
















































,f * A* ^ < 






y 







W 

«</**■ ^ * . 


A'* V <r n / * 1 * \ v * 9 




0 4> V 


\ 00 ^ 


^ ✓ 




V* 





* o « x * A 

^5- V^. * v —A 'A o \° ^ 



L /y j ' s S o X y 

0.1 _o . * v e .* A> 

C- A’ /*?;2- A ^ 






°0^' 

A* 

</' .> 

0 « .V * A O, '* I 

\ 0 ^. 

A A 

i r :' fA ^ ^ ^ A 

* 0 /■ 7 o \ > s >> 

<V. 









</> ,\\ 

_ d >> ' 


•v^ .in ^ ^ 


/ 0 * V. * A 

c 0 N c -P 
•0 

o 0 

O A wT 

Or O .A ' 

♦ ivti A * 7viPI * A> 






h' * 0 




% 


aV <P- 
v> 

v\ A . 0 X c „ V- / ' 
















* 


'V 





■ * 




\ 0c ^. 


V/ 

v 







X -jf 

cr , ^ 






Of 







A® 

* 'V 

c^> <<. o * A - '• i l ' C A> «*> 


0 * v * A ,. '--' 




7 1 

'^m^> * 

A> tf. 

^ \. S fy. > 



J\ -v _ < w 

•V 

. * A O 


'% * 

x«°<. 

=w ». I > • . \ v ,.., ?>. * 1H ® ’ . °'/. ' *., 1 * 

,<v s. ' * 0 , c- 

f 

«* ‘V ■ / y"J5S> _ V *' 

O 

/7 ^, -f ^ 

^ ^ \\ < 

v 

« « 



° A 




cS 

— a « 


v^ * ' * »y A 


.C? 7 <P 

- ^ 




A ' '> 


v \ 

A c ° N c « A A * v * * 









* X * 



*p 


> ^ 



A -c. 0 N ° 











































































L’ABBE CONSTANTIN 



BY 

LUDOYIO HALfiYY. 


TRANSLATED BT 

\ 

KATHERINE SULLIVAN. 


it 


C 


25 





NEW YORK. 

JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY, 
14 & 16 Vesky Street. 


\ 


COPYRIGHT, 1882, 
BY 


i-Z.3 

. H 131 
6 


JOHN W. LOVELL CO 




THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 

I. 

With a step vigorous and firm, an old priest was 
walking along the dusty highway in the full glare 
of a noonday sun. For more than thirty years the 
Abbe Constantin had been cure of the little village, 
that reposed in the plain, beside the bank of a narrow 
stream, called the Lizotte. 

The Abbe Constantin had been walking for the past 
quarter of an hour, beneath the wall of the chateau of 
Longueval; he arrived in front of the high, massive, 
iron entrance gates, which hung on huge old stone 
pillars, brown and rusty with time. The cure stopped 
and gazed sadly at the two immense blue placards 
which were pasted on the gate posts. 

The placards announced that on Wednesday, the 



2 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


18th of May, 1881, at one o’clock in the afternoon, 
the domain of Longneval, divided into four parcels, 
would be sold by auction, [at the court house of 
Souvigny. 

1st. The Chateau of Longueval and its depend¬ 
encies, sheets of water, vast commons, with its park of 
three hundred acres, entirely enclosed in walls and 
watered by the river Lizotte: valued at six hundred 
thousand francs. 

2nd. The farm of Blanche-Couronne, six hundred 
acres : valued at five hundred thousand francs. 

3rd. The farm of La Kozeraie, five hundred acres: 
valued at four hundred thousand francs. 

4th. The forests and timber lands of La Mionne, 
containing about nine hundred acres, and valued at 
five hundred and fifty thousand francs.^/ 

And these four amounts added at the bottom of the 
poster, gave the respectable sum of two millions and 
fifty thousand francs. 

Thus was it to be divided, this magnificent estate, 
which for two centuries had escaped division, and had 
always been handed down intact from father to 
son in the family of Longue val. The placard, in¬ 
deed, announced that after the provisional adjudica¬ 
tion of the four parcels, there would be an opportunity 
to re-unite them, and setting a price on the whole 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


3 


estate, but it was a very large tract, and in all proba^ 
bility no buyer would appear. 

The Marchioness of Longueval had been dead six 
months; in 1873, she lost her only son Robert de 
Longueval; the three heirs were the grandchildren of 
the marchioness, Pierre, ITel&ne and Camille. They 
were forced to sell the estate. Helene and Camille 
were minors. Pierre, a young man about twenty-three 
years old, had been a spend-thrift, was half ruined, 
and could not dream of buying Longueval. 

It was noon. In an hour there would be a new 
master for the old chateau of Longueval. And who 
would this master be ? What woman would take, at 
the fireside in the grand salon hung with antique 
tapestries, the place of the marchioness, the old friend 
of the country cure ? It was she who repaired the 
village church; it was she who supplied and main¬ 
tained the dispensary, kept at the parsonage by 
Pauline, the cure’s servant; it was she who twice a 
week came with her big landau heaped full of child¬ 
ren’s clothes and flannels, to take the Abbe Constantin 
out with her* on what she called a hunt for the poor. 

Thinking of all this the old priest resumed his walk 
—and then he also thought—the greatest saints have 
their little weaknesses—he also thought of his cher¬ 
ished habits of thirty years, so suddenly broken up. 


4 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


Every Thursday and Sunday he was accustomed to 
dine at the chateau. How he was indulged, petted, 
spoiled. Little Camille, she was eight years old— 
would sit on his knee and say to him : 

“You know, Monsieur le Cure, that I am going to 
be«married in your church, and grandmamma will send 
flowers enough to fill the whole church, fuller than for 
the month of Mary. It will be like a big garden, all 
white, all white, all white ! ” 

The month of Mary! So it was the month of Mary. 
Formerly at this season, the altar was almost hidden 
under the flowers brought from the greenhouses at the 
chateau. This year there were only a few poor 
bouquets of May-lilies and white lilacs in the gilded 
porcelain vases on the altar. Formerly, every Sunday 
at high mass, and every evening during the month of 
Mary, Mademoiselle Hebert, Madame Longueval’s 
companion, played the little harmonium given by the 
marchioness. To-day the silenced harmonium no 
longer accompanies the voices of the choristers, and 
the hymns of the children, 

Mademoiselle Marbeau, the directress of the post, 
was a little musical, and in her heart would have been 
willing to take the place of Mademoiselle Hebert; but 
she did not dare, she was afraid to be called priest- 
ridden, and denounced by the Mayor, who was a fre©- 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


5 


thinker. That might injure her chances of advance 
ment. 

Here the park wall ended, this park whose every path 
was familiar to the old cure. The road now followed 
the hanks of the Lizotte, and on the other side of the 
little river the meadows of the two farms stretched 
away, and beyond them the lofty forests of La Mionne. 
Divided—the estate was going to be dhfided! This 
thought broke the poor priest’s hearty^For him, all 
this had been kept together these thirty years. It was 
in a measure his property, his affair, this great estate. 
He felt himself at home on the soil of LonguevaL 
More than once it had happened, that he stopped com¬ 
placently by some immense field of wheat, to pluck 9 
blade, shake out the grain, and say to himself: 

“Ah! the grain is fine, firm and well filled. We 
will have a good harvest this year.” And, he would 
go on his way contentedly, across his fields, his pastures 
and his meadows. In short, by everything in his life, 
by all his habits, by all his memories, he was attached 
to his domain whose last hour had come. 

The Abbe could see, at a distance, the farm of Blanche 
Couronne; its red-tiled roof stood out against the ver¬ 
dure of the forest. There, the cure still felt at home. 
Bernard, the marchioness’ farmer was his friend ; and 
when at nightfall the old priest had been detained in 


6 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


his visits to the poor and sick and was a little weary 
of limb and empty of stomach, he stopped, supped 
with Bernard, regaled himself with a good dish of bacon 
and potatoes, emptied his mug of cider; then, after 
supper, the farmer harnessed his old black mare to his 
little chaise and took the abbe back to Longueval. 
All along the way they gossiped and quarrelled. The 
cure reproached the farmer for not coming to mass, and 
he would reply: 

“ The wife and daughters go there for me. You 
know very well, Monsieur le Cure, that that is the way 
it is with us. Women have religion for the men. 
They will open the gates of paradise for us.” 

“ And,” he added, roguishly, giving the black mare 
a little touch with his whip : “ If there be one ! ” 

The cure bounded on his seat in the old cabriolet. 
“ What! If there be one ? But there certainly is one! ” 
“ Then you will be there, Monsieur le Cure. You say 
that it is sure—and I tell you that if—you will be there! 
You will be there, at the gate watching for your par¬ 
ishioners and continuing your interest in all our little 
affairs. And you will say to St. Peter, for it is St. 
Peter, isn’t it, who holds the keys of Paradise ? ” 

“ Yes, it is St. Peter.” 

“ Well! you will say to St. Peter, if he wants to shut 
the door in my face, under the pretext that I did not 



THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


7 


go to mass, you will say, ‘ Oh, let him in just the same. 
This is Bernard, one of the marchioness’ farmers, a -rood 
fellow. He belonged to the municipal council, and he 
voted for the support of the sisters when they wanted 
to break up their schools.’ That will touch St. Peter, 
who will reply ‘ Ah well! go on, pass in Bernard ; but 
it is only to please M. le Cure.’ For you will still be 
cure up there, and cure of Longueval. It would be 
very cheerless for you in paradise if you could not still 
be cure of Longueval.” 

Cure of Longueval. Yes ; all his life he had been 
nothing else, had never dreamed of being anything else, 
had never desired to be anything else. Three or four 
times he had been offered one of the large cures of the 
canton, with a good income, with one or two curates. 
He had refused. Ho loved his little church, his little 
village, his little parsonage. He was there alone, con¬ 
tented, doing everything himself, he was always ramb¬ 
ling over hill and dale, in sunshine and in rain, in 
wind and in hail. His body was hardened to fatigue, 
but his soul remained sweet and tender. He lived in 
his parsonage, a large country house, separated from 
the church only by the churchyard. When the cure 
stood on a ladder to nail up the branches of his peach 
trees, and pear trees, he could look over the wall and 
see the graves, over which he ha l said the last prayer. 


8 


THE ABBt CONSTANTIN. 


and cast in the first shovelful of earth. Then, while 
he went on with his gardening, he said a little prayer 
for the repose of those of his dead, about whom he was 
anxious, and who might yet renmin in purgatory. He 
had a simple, peaceful faith/ 

But among the tombs there was one which, more 
often than the others, had his visits and his prayers. 
It was the tomb of his old friend, Doctor Reynaud, 
who died in his arms in 1871, and under what circum¬ 
stances ? The doctor was like Bernard—he novel* went 
to mass, and he never went to confession; but he was 
so good, so charitable, so compassionate for all who 
were suffering! This was the great subject of the 
cure’s meditation, his great anxiety. His friend Rey- 
naud, where was he ? Then he recalled the noble life 
of the country doctor, all courage and self-denial; he 
recalled his death, above all things his death! and he 
said to himself— 

“ In paradise! he must be in paradise ! The good 
God may perhaps have given him a little purgatory— 
for form’s sake—but he must have taken him out at 
the end of five minutes.” 

All these things passed through the old cures mind 
as he kept on his way towards Souvigny. He was 
going to the town to see the marchioness’ lawyer, to 
learn the result of the sale, and find out who the new 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


9 


masters of Longueval were to be; the abbe had still 
about a quarter of a mile to go before reaching the 
outskirts of Souvigny; he was walking just outside the 
park wall of Lavardens, when he heard voices above 
his head calling: 

“ Monsieur le Cure Monsieur le Cure! ” At this 
point a long row of linden trees bordered a terrace, and 
the abbe raising his head saw Madame de Lavardens 
and her son Paul. 

“Where are you going, Monsieur le Cure % ” asked 
the countess: ” 

“ To Souvigny, to the court house, to learn.” 

“ Stay here—M. de Larnac is coming immediately 
after the sale, to tell me the result.” 

The Abbe Constantin went up the terrace. Ger¬ 
trude de Lannilis, countess of Lavardens, had been 
very unfortunate. At eighteen, she committed a folly, 
the only one of her life, but irreparable. She married 
for love, in a transport of enthusiasm and disinterested¬ 
ness, M. de Lavardens, one of the most fascinating 
and witty men of the time. He did not love her, and 
married her only from necessity—he had spent the last 
penny of his patrimony, and for three or four years 
had kept himself up in the world by all sorts of ex¬ 
pedients. Mademoiselle de Lannilis knew all that, 
and did not deceive herself; but she said to herself, 


10 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


“ I love him so much that he must at last love me.” 

From this came all her troubles. Her life would 
have been tolerable, if she had not loved her husband 
so much ; but she loved him too much. She succeeded 
only in wearying him with her importunities and her 
tenderness. He resumed and continued his former 
life, which was very dissolute. Fifteen years passed 
thus in a long martyrdom, which Madame de Lavardens 
bore with every appearance of passive resignation; a 
resignation which was not, however, in her heart. 
Nothing could distract her, nor cure her of the love 
which tortured her. 

M. de Lavardens died in 1869 ; he left a son fourteen 
years old, who already began to show all the character¬ 
istics and fauLs of his father. Without being seriously 
endangered, Madame de Lavardens’ fortune was found 
to be somewhat undermined, and somewhat reduced. 
Madame de Lavardens sold her house in Paris, retired 
to the country, lived with very great system and 
economy, devoting herself entirely to the education of 
her son. 

But even there, vexation and sorrow awaited her. 
Paul de Lavardens was intelligent, amiable, and good; 
but rebelled absolutely against all restraint, and all 
labor. He drove to despair three or four tutors, who 
tried to put something serious into his head. He pre- 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


11 


sented himself at St. Cyr, was not admitted, and then 
began to squander in Paris- two or three hundred 
thousand francs, as fast and as foolishly as possible. 

That done, he enlisted in the first regiment of the 
light infantry, just ordered to Africa, had an oppor¬ 
tunity to make his debut as one of a little expedition 
into Sahara, conducted himself with bravery, very soon 
was made quarter-master, and at the end of three years 
was appointed sub-lieutenant, when he fell in love with 
a young woman who played “ La Fille de Madame 
Angot ” in the theatre at Algiers. Paul had served 
his time; he left the service, and came back to Paris 
with his young opera-singer; then it was a ballet- 
dancer, then an actress, then a circus-rider. He tried 
all kinds. He lived the brilliant and miserable life of 
an idler. But he spent only three or four months in 
Paris. His mother made him an allowance of thirty 
thousand francs, and declared that so long as she 
lived, he should not have a cent more until he married. 
He knew his mother, and knew that she always kept, 
her word in serious matters. So wishing to make 
a good figure in Paris, and lead a merry life there, he 
spent his thirty thousand francs between the months 
of March and May; and then quietly turned himself 
out to grass, as it were, at Lavardens, hunting, fishing^ 
and riding with the officers of the artillery regiment 


12 


THE ABB£ CONSTANTIN. 


stationed at Souvigny. The little milliners and grisettes 
of the province took the places of the little singers and 
little actresses of Paris, without causing them to be 
forgotten. By looking a little, one can find grisettes 
even in the provinces ; and Paul did look a little. 

As soon as the cure came up to Madame de Lavar- 
dens: 

“ I can,” said she, “ tell you the names of the pur¬ 
chasers of Longueval, without waiting for M. de 
Larnac. I am perfectly at ease about it, and do not 
doubt the success of our combination. So that we 
should not get into a foolish quarrel, we, that is my 
neighbor M. de Larnac, M. Gallard, a prominent 
banker in Paris, and I, have made an agreement. M. 
<le Larnac will have La Mionne; M. Gallard, the 
chateau and Blanche-Couronne; and I, La Bozeraie. 
1 know, Monsieur le Cure, that you are anxious about 
your poor people. Take courage. These Gallards 
are very rich, and they will give you plenty of money.” 

At this moment a carriage was seen approaching at 
a distance, in a cloud of dust. 

“ Here comes M. de Larnac,” cried Paul. “ I know 
his ponies.” 

All three came down the terrace m haste, and re¬ 
turned to the chateau. They reached it just as the 
carriage stopped in front of the steps. 


THE ABBE CONST ANTIN. 


13 


“ Well? ” asked Madame de Lavardens. 

“Well!” replied M. de Larnac, “ we have noth¬ 
ing” 

“ What! nothing ? ” demanded Madame de Lavar¬ 
dens, very pale and very much agitated. 

“ Nothing, nothing, absolutely nothing; none of 
us.” 

And M. de Larnac, jumping out of the carriage, re¬ 
lated what had happened at the sale at Souvigny. 

“ Everything,” said he, “ went off, at first, as if on 
wheels. The chateau was awarded to M. Gallard for 
six hundred thousand and fifty francs. No competitor. 
An overbid of fifty francs was enough. On the con¬ 
trary, there was a little battle for Blanche-Couronne. 
The bids rose from five hundred thousand to five hun¬ 
dred and twenty thousand francs, which gave the vic¬ 
tory to M. Gallard. A fresh battle, more bitterly dis 
puted for La Rozeraie; it was finally awarded to you, 
madame, for four hundred and fifty-five thousand 
francs ; and I secured, without opposition, the forest of 
La Mionne with an overbid of a hundred francs. Every¬ 
thing seemed to be ended. People were beggining to 
stand up in the assemblage, and crowd around our 
lawyers to learn the names of the purchasers. How¬ 
ever, M. Brazier, the judge who had charge of the 
sale, called for silence, and the bailiff offered for sale 


14 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


the four lots together at two millions one hundred and 
fifty or sixty thousand francs, I do not know exactly 
which. A murmur of incredulity ran round the 
audience. On all sides you heard : 4 No one, go on— 
there will be no one.’ But little Gibert, the law¬ 
yer, who was sitting in the front row, and who, until 
then, had given no signs of life, rose, and said, calm- 

!y ; 

“ I have a buyer for the four lots together at two 
millions two hundred thousand francs.” 

44 This was a thunder-clap—-a great clamor soon fol¬ 
lowed a dead silence. The hall was filled with the 
farmers and growers of the neighborhood. So much 
money for land—the idea threw them into a respect¬ 
ful stupor. However, M. Gallard nodded to Sandrier, 
the lawyer, who made his bids. The struggle began 
between Gibert and Sandrier. They reached two 
millions five hundred thousand francs. A short mo¬ 
ment of hesitation on the part of M. Gallard. He 
decided. He continued up to three millions. There 
he stopped, and the estate was awarded to Gibert. 
Every one rushed for him, they surrounded him, they 
overwhelmed him. 4 The name, the name of the 
buyer?”’ 4 “It is an American,’” replied Gibert. 
44 4 Madame Scott.’ ” 

44 Madame-Scott! ” cried Paul de Lavardens. 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


15 


44 Do you know her ? ” demanded Madame de La- 
p-ardens. 

44 Do I know her ? If only I did ! Hot at all. But 
I was at a ball at her house about six weeks ago.” 

44 At a ball at her house! and you do not know her 
—what sort of a woman is she, then ? ” 

44 Charming, exquisite, a dream, a marvel! ” 

“And there is a M. Scott? ” 

44 Certainly ; a tall, fair man. He was at his ball. 
He was pointed out to me. He bowed right and left 
it random. He did not enjoy himself, I assure you. 
He looked at us, and seemed to be saying to himself: 
4 Who are all these people ? What do they come to 
my house for V We went to see Madame Scott and 
Miss Percival, Madame Scott’s sister, and it was worth 
the trouble.” 

44 These Scotts,” said Madame de Lavardens, ad¬ 
dressing M. de Larnac, 44 do you know anything about 
them ? ” 

44 Yes, madame. I know of them. M. Scott is an 
American, immensely rich, who established himself in 
Paris last year. As soon as I heard the name, I knew 
the victory had never been in doubt. Grallard was 
beaten in advance. The Scotts began by buying a 
house in Paris that cost two millions, besides the Park 
Monceau.” 


16 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


“ Yes; Rue Murillo,” said Paul. “ I have just told 
you that I went to a ball at their house; it was-” 

“ Let M. de Larnac speak. You can tell us presently 
the history of your ball at Madame Scott’s.” 

“ Know then, that my Americans are established in 
Paris, and the shower of gold has commenced,” con¬ 
tinued M. de Larnac. “ True parvenus amuse them¬ 
selves by foolishly throwing away money. This great 
fortune is quite new. It is said, that ten years ago 
Madame Scott was begging in the streets of New 
York.” 

“ She has begged ? ” 

“ So it is said, madame. Then she was married to 
this Scott, the son of a New York banker—and sud¬ 
denly a successful law-suit put into their hands not 
millions, but tens of millions. They have, somewhere 
in America, a silver mine; an actual, a real mine, a 
silver mine, in which there i3 money. Oh ! you will 
see what splendor will shine at Longueval. We will 
all look like poor people. It is claimed that they have 
a hundred thousand francs a day to spend.” 

“ Just think what neighbors! ” cried Madame de 
Lavardens. “ An adventuress ! and still worse—a 
heretic, Monsieur 1’ Abbe, a Protestant! ” 

A heretic! a Protestant! Poor cure ! that was his 
first thought when he heard the words: an American 



THE ABBE COJNSTANTIN. 


IT 


Madame Scott. The new chatelaine would not go to 
mass ! What did it matter to him if she had begged ? 
What did it matter to him, her tens of millions and 
her tens and tens of millions ? She was not a Catholic! 
He would no longer baptize the children born at Lon» 
gueval, and the chapel of the chateau, where he so 
often had said mass, would be transformed into a Pro¬ 
testant oratory, in which would be heard the icy elo¬ 
quence of some Calvinist or Lutheran minister. 

In this group of amazed, disconsolate people, Paul 
de Lavardens looked radiant. 

“ A charming heretic at any rate,” said he, “ and, 
indeed, if you please, two charming heretics. You 
ought to see the two sisters on horseback in the Bois, 
with two little grooms behind them, not higher than 
that.” 

“ Come, Paul, tell us what you know—this ball that 
you spoke of—how did you happen to go to a ball at 
these Americans ? ” 

“By the mearest chance! My aunt Valentine re¬ 
ceived, that evening. I arrived about ten o’clock, for 
as you probably know there is no foolish gaiety at my 
aunt Valentines’ Wednesdays. I had been there about 
twenty minutes, when I saw Roger de Puymartin 
quietly slipping out. I followed him into the hall, and 
said to him, 4 Let us go in again together.’ 4 Oh, I am 




18 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


not going oack.’ 4 Where are you going ? ’ 4 To a 
ball.’ 4 At whose house ? ’ ‘At the Scott’s, do you 
want to come with me ? ’ £ But I am not invited.’ 
4 Nor am I, either.’ 4 What! nor you either ? ’ 4 No, I 
am going with a friend.’ 4 And does your friend know 
the Scott’s ? ’ 4 Slightly, enough to introduce both 
of us. Come along, you will see Madame Scott.’ 4 Oh, 
I have seen her, riding in the Bois.’ 4 She is not 
dtcolletde on horseback; you have not seen her 
shoulders, and they are shoulders that are worth see¬ 
ing. There is nothing finer in Paris at this moment.’ 
And, ma foi! I went to the ball; I saw Madame 
Scott’s auburn hair, and I saw Madame Scott’s white 
shoulders, and I hope to see them again when there is 
a ball at Longueval.” 

44 Paul! ” said Madame de Lavardens, pointing to 
the abbe. 

44 Oh ! Monsieur 1’ Abbe, I beg your pardon. Have 
I said anything ? No, it seems to me—” 

The poor priest had not heard him. His thoughts 
were elsewhere. Already he saw the preacher from 
the chateau stop at the door of each house in the 
^Iflage street, and slip under it little evangelical 
♦facts. 

Continuing his story, Paul entered upon an enthusi¬ 
astic description of the house, which was a marvel— 


THE ABBE COW ST ANTI N. 


19 


“ Of bad taste, and of glaring magnificence,” inter¬ 
rupted Madame de Lavardens. 

“ Not at all, mamma, not at all; nothing glaring, 
nothing loud—well chosen furniture—all the ar¬ 
rangements full of grace and originality—a conserva¬ 
tory flooded with electric lights, and the buffet placed 
in the conservatory under a vinetrellis loaded with 
grapes—in the month of April! One could gather all 
one wished. The favors for the German, it seems, cost 
forty thousand francs—jewels and the most costly bon- 
bonieres, and they begged you to take them. I took 
nothing mj^self, but many people did not hesitate. 
That evening, Puymartin related to me Madame 
Scott’s history. But it was not exactly the same as 
M. de Larnac’s story. Roger told me that Madame 
Scott was carried off by a company of mountebanks 
when she was very small; and that her father found 
her riding in a traveling circus, jumping over the ban¬ 
ners and flying through the paper hoops. 

“ A circus-rider ? ’’ .cried Madame de Lavardens. “ I 
prefer a beggar! ” 

u And while Roger was relating this romance to me 
I saw the foreign circus rider, come through a corridor, 
in a marvelous toilette of satin and lace; and I admired 
those shoulders, those dazzling shoulders, on which 
gleamed a necklace of diamonds as big as the stopper 



20 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


of a decanter. You would have said, that the Minister 
of Finance had secretly sold Madame Scott half of the 
crown diamonds, and that this explained how it was 
that he had fifteen millions surplus in his accounts last 
month. Add to this, if you please, that she had a very 
thorough-bred air—the little mountebank—and that 
she was entirely at ease in all this splendor.^' 

Paul was so enthusiastic that his mother tried to stop 
him. In the presence of M. de Larnac, who was very 
much vexed, he allowed his satisfaction at having this 
wonderful American for a neighbor, to be too plainly 
seen. 

The Abbe Constantin prepared to go back to Lon- 
gueval, but Paul, seeing him about to start, said: 

“ Oh! no, no, Monsieur P Abbe, you must not walk 
all the way to Longueval a second time in the heat. 
Let me drive you back. I am sorry to see you so 
troubled. I will try to divert you. Oh! in spite of 
your being such a saint, I make you laugh sometimes 
with my foolishness.” 

Half an hour afterwards, both the cure and Paul 
were rolling along, side by side, toward the village. 
Paul talked, talked, talked ! His mother was no longer 
there to quiet him, and keep him in check. His de¬ 
light was brimming over. 

“Now, you see* Monsieur 1’Abbe,you are wrong in 



THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


21 


taking things so seriously. There, look at my little 
mare, how she trots ! how she steps out! You do not 
know her. Do you know what I paid for her ? Four 
hundred francs. I discovered her, a fortnight ago, in 
the shafts of a gardener’s cart. When she is in train¬ 
ing once, she will make twelve miles an hour, and one 
has their hands full with her all the time. Look, look 
how she pulls ! how she pulls ! Go on! tot! tot! tot! 
You are not in a hurry are you, Monsieur l’Abbe? 
Will you drive through the woods ? It will do you 
good to take the air. If you knew, Monsieur l’Abbe, 
how fond I am of you, and how much I respect you. 
I hope I have not said too many foolish things before 
you just now. I should he so sorry.” 

“ No, my child, I have not heard anything.” 

“ Then we will take the longest way round.” 

After turning to the left, into the forest, Paul went 
back to his first sentence: 

“ I tell you, Monsier l’Abbe, that you are wrong in 
taking things so seriously. Do you want me to tell 
you what I think ? What has just happened is very 
fortunate.’ 7 

“ Very fortunate? ” 

* “ Yes, very fortunate. I would rather have the 
Scotts at Longueval, than the Gallftrds. Have you 
not just heard M. de Larnac criticise them for spend- 


22 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


ing tlieir money foolishly. It is never foolish to spend 
money. What is foolish is, to keep it. Yonr poor 
people, for I am very sure that it is especially of your 
poor people that you are thinking, well this has been a 
good day for your poor people. At least that is 
my opinion. Religion ? Yes, religion. They will 
not go to mass. That will trouble you, it is quite 
natural; but they will send you money, plenty of 
money, and you will take it, and you will be per¬ 
fectly right. You see you cannot say no. There 
will be a shower of gold all over the country. A stir ! 
a commotion! coaches and four-powdered postillions, 
hunting, fireworks. And here, in this wood, in this 
very drive where we are, I shall, perhaps, before long, 
find Paris again. I may see again the two eques¬ 
triennes, and flie two little grooms that I told you 
about just now. If you knew how handsome they are 
on horseback—the two sisters. One morning, in Paris, 
I followed them the whole way around the Bois de Bou¬ 
logne. I can see them yet. They wore high-crowned 
grey hats, little black veils, and two long riding habits, 
with just a single seam down the back; and a woman 
must be extremely well made, to wear such a riding habit 
as that! Because you see Monsieur 1’Abbe, that with 
a habit cut like that, there is no deception possible.” 

The cure for some time had paid no attention to 




THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


23 


Paul’s discourse. They were driving through a long, 
strait avenue. At the farther end of it the cure saw a 
horseman coming, at a gallop. 

“ Look,” said he to Paul, “ look! you have better 
eyes than I; is not that Jean, yonder ? ” 

“ Why, yes, it is Jean, 1 know his grey mare.” Paul 
was fond of horses, and he always looked at the horse, 
before he looked at the rider. It was, indeed, Jean; 
and perceiving the cure and Paul at a distance, he 
waved his cap which bore two gold bands. 

Jean was a lieutenant in a regiment of artillery in 
garrison at Souvigny. 

In a few minutes he rode up to the little carriage, 
and addressing thje cure: 

“ I have just been at your house, godfather, an' 
Pauline told me that you had gone to Souvigny to the 
sale. Well, who has bought the chateau?” 

“ An American, Madame Scott.” 

“ And Blanche Couronne ? ” 

“ The same Madame Scott.” 

“ And La Pozeraie ? ” 

“ Still, Madame Scott.” 

“ And the forest, always, Madame Scott ? ” 

“You are right,” replied Paul, “and I know her— 
Madame Scott—and there will be entertainments at 
Longueval. I will introduce you. Only, Monsieur 


24 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


P Abbe, is troubled because she is an American, and a 
Protestant.” 

“ Ah! that is true, my poor godfather. But we 
will talk about all that to-morrow. I am coming to 
dine with you. I have given Pauline notice. I have 
not time to stop now. I am on duty, and I must be at 
quarters at three o’clock. A n revoir , Paul! Till to¬ 
morrow, godfather! ” 

The lieutenant resumed his galop. Paul started up 
his little horse. 

“ What a good fellow Jean is,” said Paul. 

u Oh! yes.” 

“ There is no one in the world better than Jean.” 

“ No, no better.” 

The cure turned around to look after Jean, who was 
already disappearing in the depths of the forest. 

“ Oh! yes, there is you, Monsieur l’Abbe.” 

“ No, not I, not I.” 

“ Oh well, will you let me tell you, Monsieur V Abbe, 
that there is no one in the world better than you two, 
you and Jean ! ” 

“ Now that is the truth ! Oh wait, here is a good 
place to trot. I have been letting Niniche walk. I 
have named her Niniche.” 

Paul just touched Niniche with the tip of the whip, 
and as she started off at a rapid pace, he delighted cried: 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


25 


“ Just look how she lifts her feet, Monsieur l’Abbe, 
look now, how she lifts her feet! and so regular! 
“ Just like a perfect machine ! Lean over and see ! ” 
The Abbe Constantin to please Paul leaned over a 
little to see how Niniche lifted her feet . But he was 
thinking of something else. 


This lieutenant’s name was Jean Peynaud. He 
was the son of a country doctor, who was sleeping in 
the cemetery at Longueval. When the Abbe Constan¬ 
tin, in 1846, came to take possession of his parish, 
a Doctor Peynaud, the grandfather of Jean, was es¬ 
tablished in a cheerful little home on the Souvigny 
road, between the two chateaux of Longueval and 
Lavardens. 

Marcel, the son of this Doctor Peynaud, had finish¬ 
ed his medical studies at Paris. He was very indus¬ 
trious, and possessed of superior mental ability. He 
had received the first prize at the competition for fel¬ 
lowships. He decided to remain in Paris and try his 
fortune, and everything promised a prosperous and 
brilliant career for him, when, in 1852, he received 
the news of his father’s death, from apoplexy. Mar¬ 
cel hastened to Longueval in the deepest grief. He 

worshipped his father. He spent a month with his 
26 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


27 


mother, and, at the end of that time, spoke of the 
necessity of returning to Paris. 

“ It is true,” said she to him, “ you must go.” 

“ What! I go ? We must go ; do you think that 
I will leave you here all alone ? I take you with me.” 

“ Go to live in Paris ! Leave this place where I 
was born, where your father lived, where he died! 
I can never do it, my child, never! Go alone, since 
your life and all your future are there. I understand 
you. I know you will not forget me, that you will 
come often, very often to see me.” 

“ No, mother,” he replied, “ I shall stay here.” 

He stayed. His hopes, his ambitions, everything 
vanished, disappeared in a moment. 

He saw but one thing—duty, which was, not to 
abandon his aged, suffering mother. In this duty, 
simply accepted, and simply performed, he found 
happiness. And, after all, there is little beside duty 
in which happiness is found. 

Marcel adapted himself to his new life with a good 
grace, and with all his heart. He went on with his 
father’s life, taking the furrow where his father had 
left it. He gave himself up entirely to the obscure 
profession of a country doctor, without regret and 
without looking back. He lived in the simplest man- 
ler possible, and one half of his time he gave to the 


28 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


poor, from whom he would never take a penny. 
This was his only luxury. 

A charming young girl, without fortune, and alone 
in the world, crossed his path. He married her. 
This happened in 1855, and the folio whig year brought 
Doctor Reynaud a great grief and a great joy: the 
death of his aged mother, and the birth of his son 
Jean. 

At an interval of six weeks, the Abbe Constantin 
recited the prayers for the dead over the tomb of the 
grandmother, and was present, as god-father, at the 
baptism of the grandson. 

Meeting at the bedside of the suffering and dying, 
the priest and the physician, alike in heart and feel¬ 
ing, had been attracted and attached to each other. 
They felt themselves to be of the same family, the 
same race—the race of the tender, the just, the 
kind. 

Years succeeded years, calm, tranquil, sweet, in the 
full satisfaction of labor and duty. Jean was growing 
up. He took his first lessons in writing of his father, 
and his first lessons in Latin of the cure. 

J ean was industrious and intelligent; he made such 
progress that the two masters, especially the cure, 
found themselves somewhat perplexed after a few 
years. Their pupil became too advanced for them. 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


29 


It was at this time, just after the death of her husband, 
that the countess came to permanently reside at 
Lavardens. She brought a tutor for her son Paul, 
who was a very attractive but a very idle little fel¬ 
low. The two children were of the same age, they 
had known each other from childhood. Madame de 
Lavardens was very fond of Doctor Reynaud, and one 
day she made him this proposition: 

“ Send Jean to me every morning,” said she, “ and 
I will send him back to you every evening. Paul’s 
tutor is a very intellectual young man, and he will make 
our two children study. You will do me a favor. 
Jean will set a good example to Paul.” 

So it was arranged, and the little village-boy did, 
indeed, set the little gentleman excellent examples of 
industry and application ; but these excellent examples 
were not followed. 

War broke out. . On the 4th of November, at seven 
o’clock in the morning, the troops, drafted at Sou- 
vigny, assembled on the village square; their chaplain 
was the Abbe Constantin, their surgeon, Doctor Rey¬ 
naud. The same thought came into the minds of both 
at the same time ; the priest was sixty-two years old, 
the physician fifty. 

On setting out, the regiment took the road which 
goes through Longueval and passed in front of the 



30 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


doctor’s house. Madame Reynaud and Jean were 
waiting on the roadside. The child threw himself 
into his father’s arms-, 

“ Take me, papa, take me! ” 

Madame Reynaud wept. The doctor folded them 
both in a long embrace, and then went on his way. 

A hundred feet farther on, the road takes an abrupt 
turn. The doctor turned around and cast a lingering 
look at his wife and child—the last. He was never to 
see them again. 

On the 8 th of January, 1871, the regiment from 
Souvigny attacked the village of Yillersexel, occupied 
by the Prussians, who had fortified the walls, and were 
barricaded in the houses. The cannonading com¬ 
menced. A soldier in the front ranks received a ball 
in his chest and fell. There was a moment of hesita¬ 
tion and confusion. 

! “ Forward, forward ! ” cried the officers. 

The men passed over the body of their comrade, 
and, under a hailstorm of balls, entered the town. 

Doctor Reynaud and the Abbe Constantin marched 
with the troops. They halted when they reached the 
wounded man. Blood poured in floods from his 
mouth. 

“ I can do nothing,” said the doctor; “ he is dying; 
he is for you.” 



THK ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


31 


The priest knelt down beside the dying man; and 
the doctor, rising, went on toward the village. He 
had not taken ten steps, when he stopped, threw up 
both his arms, and fell to the ground. The priest ran 
to him. He was dead; killed by a ball through the 
temple. 

That night L ne village was taken, and the next day 
the body of Doctor Reynaud was deposited in the 
cemetery at Villersexel. Two months afterward, the 
Abbe Constantin brought his friend’s coffin to Lon- 
gueval, and, following the coffin, as it was borne out 
of the church, walked an orphan. Jean had lost his 
mother, too. When the news of her husband’s death 
came, she remained for twenty-four hours prostrated, 
crushed—without a word, without a tear. Then fever 
set in, then delirium, and then, at the end of a fort¬ 
night, death. 

Jean was alone in the world. He was fourteen 
years old. 

There remained of this family, in which, for a 
century, every one had been good and honest, only 
a child kneeling by a grave, who promised to be, 
what his grandfather and his father had been, 
honest and good. There are such families in France, 
and many, many more than one ventures to say. Our 
poor country is cruelly misrepresented, in many things, 




32 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


by certain writers who draw startling, exaggerated 


pictures of it. It is true that the history of good 


people is often either monotonous or sorrowful. This 



Jean’s grief was the grief of a man. For along time 
he was sad, for a long time silent. The evening after 
his father’s burial, the Abbe Constantin took him home 
with him to the parsonage. The day had been rainy 
and cold. Jean was sitting by the fire, the priest was 
reading his breviary. Old Pauline went in and out. 
An hour passed in silence, when Jean, suddenly look¬ 
ing up, said: 

“ Godfather, has my father left me any money ? ” 

This was such a strange question, that the abbd, 
amazed, thought he could not have heard aright. 

“ You ask me if your father—.” 

“ I ask you, godfather, if my father left me any 
money ? ” 

“ Yes, he must have left you money.” 

“ A good deal, did he not ? I have often beard 
people say that my father was rich. Tell me, as 
nearly as you can, how much he must have left 


me. 


“ But I do not know. You ask me about things—” 
The poor priest was distressed. Such a. question at 
such a moment! He believed that he knew Jean’s 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


33 


heart; and in that heart, there should be no place for 
such thoughts. 

“ I beg of you, godfather, tell me,” continued Jean 
gently. “ I will explain to you, afterward, why I ask 
you this.” 

“ Ah ! Well! Tour father was said to have two or 
three hundred thousand francs.” 

“ And is that much money ? ” 

‘‘Yes, that is a large sum of money.” 

“ And all that money is mine ? ” 

“ Yes, all that money is yours.” 

u Ah ! So much the better; because on the day 
when my father was killed, over there, the Prussians 
on the very same day, killed the son of a poor woman 
at Longueval—mother Clement—you know her. They 
also killed Rosalie’s brother, with whom I used to play 
when I was little. Well, since I am rich, and they 
are poor, I want to divide the money my father has 
left me witli mother Clement and Rosalie.” 

On hearing these words, the cure rose, took Jean’s 
two hands, and drawing him close, folded him in his 
arms. The white head rested upon the blonde head. 
Two big tears broke from the old priest’s eyes, rolled 
slowly down his cheeks, and crept away into the 
wrinkles of his face. 

The cure, however, was obliged to explain to Jean, 








34 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


that, although he was the heir to his father’s property, 
still, he could not dispose of it as he pleased. There 
must be a family council—a guardian. 

“You, doubtless, godfather ? ” 

“ No, not I, my child ; a priest has no right to hold 
a guardianship. I think, Monsieur Lenient, the 
notary at Souvigny, who was one of your father’s best 
friends, will be chosen. You can talk with him—you 
can tell him what you wish to do.” 

Monsieur Lenient was, indeed, selected by the family 
council to assume the duties of a guardian. Jean’s en¬ 
treaties were so urgent, and so touching, that the notary 
consented to deduct from the income the sum of twenty- 
four hundred francs, to be divided between Mother 
Clement and little Rosalie, every year until Jean was 
of age. 

At this juncture, Madame Lavardens acted very gen¬ 
erously. She went to see the Abbe Constantin. 

“ Give Jean to me,” said she, “ give him entirely to 
me, until he has completed his studies. I will bring 
him back to you every year for his vacation. It is not 
a favor that I am doing you. It is a favor that I 
ask of you. I can desire nothing more fortunate for 
my son. Paul desires to enter St. Cyr, to become a 
soldier. I can find the necessary masters and appli¬ 
ances only in Paris. I will take the two children there; 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


35 


they will be brought up together, under my eyes, like 
brothers. I will make no difference between them, I 
assure you.” 

It was difficult not to accept such a proposition. 
The old cure would have been glad to keep Jean with 
him, and the thought of the separation almost broke 
his heart; but what was for the child’s interest ? that 
was the only thing to be considered. The rest was 
nothing. Jean was called. 

“ My child,” said Madame de Lavardens, “ will you 
come and live with me and Paul, for a few years ? I 
will take you to Paris.” 

“ You are very kind, madame, but I would so much 
rather stay here.” 

He looked at the cure, who turned away. 

“ Why go away,” he continued, “ why take us away, 
Paul and me ? ” 

Because you can finish your studies, steadily and 
profitably, only in Paris. Paul will prepare for his 
examination at St. Cyr. You know that he wants to 
be a soldier.” 

“And I, too, madame; I want to be a soldier.” 

“You a soldier ? ” said the cure, “but your father 
never thought of such a tiling. Your father very often 
spoke of your future, your career, to me. You were 
to be a doctor, and like him a country doctor, at Lon- 




36 THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 

gueval; and like him help the poor, and like him take 
care of the sick. Jean, my child, remember— 

“ I remember; I do remember.” 

“Well, then, you must do as your father wished. 
It is your duty, Jean, it is your duty. You must go 
to Paris. You would like to stay here. Ah! lean 
understand that; and I, too, would like it very much, 
but it cannot be. You must go to Paris, to work, to 
work diligently. That does not trouble me. You are 
your father’s own son. You will be an honest man, 
and an industrious man. One is rarely the one with¬ 
out being the other. And some day, the poor will 
find in your father’s house, in the very place where he 
did so much good, another Doctor Peynaud who, too, 
will help them. And I, if I am still in this world, 
will be so happy when that day comes—so happy. But 
I ought not to speak of myself. It is wrong—I am of 
no importance. You must think of your father. I tell 
you again, Jean, it was his dearest wish. You cannot 
have forgotten it.” 

“ Ho, I have not forgotten it; but if my father sees 
me and hears me, I am sure he understands me, and 
forgives me, for it is on his account.” 

“ On his account! ” 

“ Yes ; when I heard that he was dead, and when I 
knew how he died, in a moment, without being obliged 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


37 


to reflect, I said to myself that I would be a soldier; 
and I will be a soldier. Godfather, and you, madame; 
I entreat you not to prevent me.” 

The child burst into tears, in an agony of despair. 
The countess and the abbe quieted him with kind 
words. 

“ Yes—yes—it is understood. Everything shall be 
as you wish; everything that you wish.” 

They both had the same idea. “ Let us leave it to 
time. Jean is only a child ; he will change his mind.” 
In which they both were mistaken. Jean did not 
change his mind. 

In the month of September, 1876, Paul was rejected 
at St. Cyr; and Jean stood eleventh at the School of 
Polytechnics. On the day, when the list of successful 
candidates was published, he wrote to the Abbe Con¬ 
stantin : 

“ I have passed, and passed too well; for I want to 
go into the army, and not into the civil service. How¬ 
ever, if I keep my rank at the school, it will be good 
for one of my comrades. lie will get my place.” 

But Jean did better than keep his rank. The final 
classification made him number seven. But instead 
of entering the School of Engineers, he entered the 
School of Practice at Fontainbleau in 1878. He was 
just twenty-one. He was of age ; master of his own 


38 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


fortune, and the first act of his administration was a 
large, a very large, expenditure. He bought for 
Mother Clement and for little Rosalie, now grown up, 
two annuities of fifteen hundred francs each. They 
cost him seventy thousand francs, nearly the same 
amount which Paul spent in the first year of his 
majority on Mademoiselle Lise Bruy ere, of the Palais- 
Royal Theatre. 

Two years later, Jean carried off the first prize at 
Fontainbleau, which gave him his choice of vacant 
places. There was one in the regiment stationed at 
Souvigny, and Souvigny was very near Longueval; 
Jean asked for the place and obtained it. 

This is the way that Jean Reynaud, lieutenant in 
the 9th Regiment of Artillery, came, in the month of 
October, 1880, into possession of Dr. Marcel Rey- 
naud’s house. This is the way he found himself again 
in the country where his childhood was spent, and 
where every one had preserved the memory of his fa¬ 
ther’s life and death. This is the way that the Abbe 
Constantin was not denied the happiness of seeing his 
friend’s son again. And, if the truth must be told, 
he no longer regretted that Jean had not been a 
physician. When the old cure went out of church, 
after saying Mass, if he saw a cloud of dust blow along 
the road, if he felt the earth tremble with the roaring 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


39 


of cannon, he stopped and took as much pleasure as a 
child in seeing the regiment pass. 

But the regiment, for him, was Jean! In the fea¬ 
tures of this sturdy, robust officer, he could plainly read 
integrity, courage and goodness. 

As soon as Jean saw the cure at a distance, he would 
put his horse on a galop, and stop to talk a little with 
his godfather. Jean’s horse always turned his head 
around to the cure, for he well knew that there was 
always a lump of sugar for him in the pocket of the 
old soutane—worn and pieced—his morning soutane. 
The abbe had a handsome one which he saved to go 
into company—when he went into company. 

When the trumpets of the regiment sounded through 
the village, every eye was watching for Jean, little 
Jean. For to the old people of Longueval, he was 
still little Jean. One old peasant, wrinkled and 
decrepit, could never break himself of the habit of 
saluting him as he passed, with a “ Good-morning, 
boy ! ” The boy was six feet tall. 

And Jean never went through the village without 
seeing at two windows, the old parchment face of 
Mother Clement, and Bosalie’s smiling features. 

The latter had been married the year before. Jean 
was her witness, and danced merrily the evening of 
the wedding with the young girls of Longueval. 


40 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


This was the lieutenant who, on Saturday the 28th 
of May, 1881, at about five o’clock in the afternoon, 
dismounted in front of the parsonage gate. He en¬ 
tered ; his horse quietly followed him, and made his 
own way toward a little shed in the yard. Pauline 
stood at the kitchen window. Jean went up and 
kissed her on both cheeks. 

“ Good day, my good Pauline. How do you do ! ” 

“ Yery well. I am busy with your dinner. Ho 
you want to know what you are going to have ? 
Potato soup, a leg of mutton, and a dish of eggs, an 
laity 

“ Excellent! I like it all; and 1 am starving.” 

“And 1 forgot to mention a salad, which you can 
help me pick presently. Dinner will be ready at half¬ 
past six exactly; because to-night, at half-past seven, 
Monsieur le Cure has his service for the month of 
Mary.” 

“ Where is my godfather ? ” 

“ In the garden; Monsieur le Cure is very sad on 
account of the sale yesterday.” 

“ Yes; I know, I know.” 

“ It will cheer him up a little to see you. He is 
always so happy when you are here. Take care, Lou- 
lou wants to nibble the rose-bushes. How warm lie 
is, pooi‘ Loulou! ” 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


41 


“ I came by the longest way, through the wood, and 
I rode pretty fast.” 

Jean caught Loulou, who was going toward the rose- 
trellis, took off his saddle and bridle, fastened him in 
the little shed, and rubbed him down with a bit of 
straw in a twinkling. 

Then he went into the house, took off his sword 
and his cap, put on an old five-cent straw hat, and 
started for the garden to find the cure. 

The poor abbe was, indeed, very sad. He had not 
closed his eyes all night; he who usually slept so 
peacefully, so sweetly, the untroubled sleep of a child. 
His heart was heavy. Longueval in the hands of a 
foreigner, of a heretic, of an adventurer! Jean re¬ 
peated what Paul had said the day before : 

“ You will have money, plenty of money for your 
poor.” 

“Money ! money ! Yes, my poor will lose nothing 
—perhaps they will gain. But I must go to ask for 
this money, and I shall find in the salon, instead of 
my dear old friend, this American with red hair—it 
seems that she has red hair. I shall certainly go for 
my poor people, I shall go; and she will give me 
money, but she will give me nothing else. The 
marchioness gave in a different way. Her heart and 
soul were in the giving. We went together, every 


42 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


week, to visit the poor and the sick. She knew all 
their sufferings, and all their miseries. And when I 
was confined to my arm chair with the gout, she made 
the rounds, all alone; and as well, or better than I.” 

Here, Pauline interrupted the conversation. She 
carried an immense, china salad bowl, decorated in 
big, staring, red flowers. 

“ Here I am,” said she, “ I am going to pick the 
salad. Jean, do yon want lettuce or young chiccory \ ” 

“ Chiccory,” replied Jean gayly, “it is a long time 
since I have eaten young chiccory.” 

“ Well! you shall have some to-night. Here, take 
the salad bowl.” 

Pauline began to cut the chiccory, and Jean stooped 
down to receive the leaves into the big salad bowl. 
The cure looked on. 

At this moment, a tinkling as of little bells was 
heard. A carriage was approaching and the old iron 
work rattled. The abbe’s little garden was separated 
from the road only by a low hedge, breast-high, with 
a little open gate in the middle of it. 

All three looked up and saw an old fashioned livery 
carriage coming, drawn by two big white horses, and 
driven by an old coachman in a blouse. By the side 
of the coachman sat a servant in the severest and 
most perfect of liveries. 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


43 


Inside the carriage were two young women, both in 
traveling dress, very elegant, but very simple. 

When the carriage reached the garden hedge, the 
driver stopped his horses, and addressing tho 
abbe: 

“ Monsieur le Cure,” said he, “here are some ladies 
who want to see you.” 

Then turning to his passengers, he added : 

“ This is Monsieur le Cure, of Longueval.” 

The Abbe Constantin, had approached and opened 
the little gate. The travelers alighted. Their atten¬ 
tion was immediately drawn, not without some sur¬ 
prise, to the young officer, who to his great embarrass¬ 
ment, stood with his straw hat in one hand and in the 
other a big salad bowl heaped up with chiccory. 

The tvro ladies entered the garden, and the elder 
—she seemed to be about twenty-five—said with a 
slightly foreign accent, quite unusual and peculiar: 

“ I must introduce myself, Monsieur le Cure, 
Madame Scott. I am the Madame Scott who 
bought the chateau, yesterday, and the farms and all 
the rest. I hope I do not disturb you, and that you 
can spare me a few minutes.” 

Then pointing to her traveling companion : 

“ Miss Bettina Percival—my sister—you have 
surmised it already, I think. We are so alike, are 


44 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


we not ? Ah ! Bettina we have left our little bags in 
the carriage, and we want them.” 

“ I will go and get them.” And as Miss Percival 
started for the two bags, Jean said : 

“ Allow me, mademoiselle, I beg of you.” 

“ I am very sorry, Monsieur, to give you so much 
trouble. The servant will hand them to you—they are 
under the front seat.” 

She had the same accent as her sister, the same 
large black eyes, laughing and bright, and the same 
hair—not red—but blonde with golden lights, where 
the sunlight played softly through it. She bowed to 
Jean, with a pretty smile, and he, giving the bowl of 
chiccory to Pauline, went to get the little bags. 

Meanwhile, the Abbe Constantin, very much agi¬ 
tated and embarrassed, w r as conducting the new 
chatelaine of Longueval into the parsonage. 



III. 


The parsonage of Longue val was not a palace. The 
same room on the ground floor, served for a saldn, and 
for a dining-room, communicating directly with the 
kitchen by a door, that was always wide open; this 
room was provided with the scantiest amount of furni¬ 
ture : two old arm chairs, six straw chairs, a side¬ 
board, and a round table. Pauline had already laid 
the cloth for two, the Abbe and Jean. 

Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival w T ent in and out, ex¬ 
amining the cure’s residence with a sort of childish 
•curiosity. 

“ The garden, the house, everything is charming,” 
said Mrs. Scott. 

Together they boldly entered the kitchen. The 
Abbe Constantin followed them, astonished, stupified, 
horrified at this abrupt and unexpected American in¬ 
vasion. 

Old Pauline looked at the two foreigners with a 
disturbed and sullen air. 


45 


46 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


“ Look at them,” she said to herself, “ these heretics, 
these hateful people.” 

And with trembling hands she went on mechanically 
picking over her salad. 

“ I congratulate you,” said Bettina to her, “ your 
little kitchen is so well kept! Look, Suzie, is it not 
just your idea of a parsonage ? ” 

“ And the cure, too,” said Mrs. Scott, “ Ah ! yes, 
Monsieur le Cure, wont you let me tell you so \ If you 
knew how glad I am that you are just what you are ! 
What did I tell you on the train this morning, Bettina \ 
and just now again in the carriage ? ” 

“ My sister said, Monsieur le Cure, that what she 
desired most of all was a cure, not young, not gloomy, 
not severe—a cure with white hair, and a kind and 
pleasant disposition. 

“And you are just exactly that, Monsieur le Cure— 
exactly. No, we could not be better pleased. Excuse 
me, I beg of you, for speaking so to you. Parisians 
know how to turn their phrases in a skilful, deli¬ 
cate manner. As for me, I do not know how, and 
I would have great difficulty in keeping out of 
trouble, in speaking French, if I did not say things 
simply, foolishly, just as they come. In short, I am 
pleased, very much pleased; and I hope you are 
too, Monsieur le Cure, that you are pleased, very 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


47 


much pleased, with jour new parishioners.” 

“ My parishioners ! ” said the cure, finding speech, 
motion, life, everything which, for a few minutes had 1 
completely deserted him. “ My parishioners ! Pardon 
me, madame, mademoiselle—I am so overcome ! You 
could be—you are Catholics ? ” 

“ Why, yes, we are Catholics.” 

“ Catholics ! Catholics ! ” repeated the cure. 

“ Catholics ! Catholics! ” cried old Pauline, who 
appeared, beaming, radiant, her hands uplifted, in the 
doorway of the kitchen. 

Mrs. Scott looked at the cure, and looked at 
Pauline, very much astonished to have produced such 
an effect with a single word. And, to complete the 
picture, Jean appeared, carrying the two little travel¬ 
ing bags. The cure and Pauline greeted him in the 
same words: 

“ Catholics ! Catholics! ” 

“Ah! I understand,” said Mrs. Scott, laughing, 
“ it is our name, our country ! You thought we were 
Protestants. ■ !N ot at all; our mother was a Canadian, 
of French and Catholic origin. That is the way that 
my sister and I come to speak French, with an accent, 
it is true, and with a certain American manner; but 
at least so that we can say almost everything that we 
want to say. My husband is a Protestant, but he 


48 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


leaves me perfect liberty; and my two children are 
Catholics. This is why, Monsieur l’Abbe, we have 
wanted, from the first day, to come to see you.” 

“ For that,” continued Bettina, “ and for something 
else; but for this something else, we must have our 
little bags.” 

“ Here they are, mademoiselle,” said Jean. 

“ This one is mine.” 

“And this is mine.” 

While the little bags were passing from the officer’s 
hands to the hands of Mrs. Scott and Bettina, the 
cure presented Jean to the two Americans; but he was 
still in such a state of emotion, that the presentation 
was not entirely according to rule. The cure forgot 
only one thing, but a very essential thing in an intro¬ 
duction, Jean’s surname. 

“This is Jean, my godson,” said he, “ lieutenant in 
the artillery regiment, stationed at Souvigny. He is 
one of the family.” 

Jean made two immense bows ; the Americans, two 
little ones; after which they began to look into their 
bags, and each took out a roll of a thousand francs, 
daintly inclosed in green leather boxes hooped with 
gold. 

“I have brought you this for your poor people, 
Monsieur le Cure,” said Mrs. Scott. 


THE ABBE CLWSmNTIN. 


49 


“And I, this,” said Bettina. They slipped their 
offerings delicately into the right hand and into the 
left hand of the old cure, and he, looking first at 
his right hand and then at his left, said to himself: 

“ What are these two little things. They are very 
heavy. There must be gold in them. Yes ; bi^t how 
much ? how much ? ” 

The Abbe Constantin was sixty-two years old, and 
a good deal of money had passed through his hands— 
not to stay long, it is true; but that money had come 
to him in little sums, and the idea of such a present 
had never entered his head Two thousand francs! 
He had never had two thousand francs in his posses¬ 
sion, never even a thousand. 

Then, not knowing what they had given him, the 
cure did not know how to thank them. 

“ I am very grateful to you; madame ;* you are very 
good, mademoiselle,” he faltered. 

After all, he did not thank them enough. Jean 
thought it was time to interfere. 

“ Godfather, these ladies have just given you two 
thousand francs.” 

Then, overcome with emotion and gratitude, the cure 
cried: 

“Two thousand francs! Twothousand francs for 


50 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


Pauline suddenly made a fresh appearance. 

“ Two thousand francs ! Two thousand francs ! ” 

u So it appears,” said the cure, “ so it appears. 
Here, Pauline, lock up this money, and take care of 
it.” 

Old Pauline was servant, cook, apothecary, treas¬ 
urer—in short, all sorts of things at the parsonage. 

With trembling hands she respectfully received the 
two little rolls of gold pieces, which represented so 
much suffering relieved, so many sorrows softened. 

“ That is not all,” said Mrs. Scott. “ I will give you 
five hundred francs every month.” 

“And I will give the same as my sister.” 

“A thousand francs a month! But there will no 
longer be any poor.” 

“ That is just what we want. I am rich, very rich 
—and my sister, too ! ‘She is even richer than I; be¬ 
cause a young girl does not have so many expenses, 
while I— Ah! I! — I spend all I can, all that I 
can. When one lias a good deal of money, too much 
money; if one has really more than is right; say, 
Monsieur l’Cure, is there any other way to get pardon 
for such a sin, than to have open hands and give, give, 
give as much as possible, and as well as possible? 
Besides, you are going to give me something.” 

And, addressing Pauline, “ Will you be so good as 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


5J 


to give me a glass of water ? No, nothing else—just 
a glass of water. I am dying of thirst.” 

“And I,” said Bettina, laughing, nile Pauline ran 
to bring a glass of water, “ I am dying of something 
else. I am dying with hunger. Monsieur le Cure, I 
know it is awfully impolite, but I see that youz table 
is laid. Couldn’t you ask us to dinner ? ” 

“ Bettina ! ” said Mrs. Scott. 

“ Be still, Suzie, be still. You want us, do yor not, 
Monsieur le Cure. 

The old cure could not reply. He no longer kn^»W 
anything—even where he was. They took his par¬ 
sonage by assault. They were Catholics ! They hud 
brought him two thousand francs ! They promised 
him a thousand francs a month ! And they wanted to 
dine with him! That was the climax. He was dis¬ 
mayed at the idea of doing the honors—of his leg of 
mutton and his dish of eggs, au lait —to these two 
rich Americans, who were accustomed to be served 
with the daintiest, rarest, most extraordinary dishes. 
He murmured: 

“ To dine ! to dine ! You would dine here \ ” 

Jean was obliged to interfere a second time: 

“ My godfather will be only loo happy,” said he, 

“ if you will consent; I see what troubles him. We 
expected to dine alone, the two of us ; and so you must 


52 


THE AH BE CONSTANTIN. 


not expect a banquet, ladies. You will make allow¬ 
ances.” 

“ Yes, yes ; all allowances,” said Bettina. 

Then, addressing her sister : 

“Now, Suzie, do not frown at me because I have 
been a little . . . you know that I am always a lit¬ 
tle . . . Let us stay, will you ? It will rest us so 
much to spend an hour here quietly. We have had 
such a tiresome day on the railway, in the carriage, 
in the dust, in the heat! We had such a frightful 
breakfast this morning: in such a frightful hotel. We 
would have to go back to that same hotel to dine at 
half-past seven, so that we could take the train back to 
Paris. It will be much nicer to dine here. You 
won't say no ? Ah ! dear Suzie, you are so good.” 

She kissed her sister, so coaxingly, so tenderly, then 
turning to the cure: 

“If you only knew, Monsieur le Cure, how good 
she is.” 

“ Bettina! Bettina! ” 

“Come,” said Jean, “hurry, Pauline! Two more 
plates. I will help you.” 

“And I, too,” cried Bettina, “ I, too. I am going 
to help you. Let me, I beg of you, it will please me 
so much. Only, Monsieur le Cure, you must let me 
make myself at home a little.” 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


53 


So she took off, first, her traveling cloak ; and Jean 
could not help admiring her lithe and graceful figure, 
wonderful in its exquisite perfection. 

Miss Percival then took off her hat, but with a lit¬ 
tle too much haste, for it was a signal for a charming 
inundation. A whole avalanche escaped, and poured 
in torrents, in long cascades, over Bettina’s shoulders; 
she was standing in front of a window through which 
the sunlight entered in floods ; and this golden light, 
shining full on her beautiful golden hair, made an ex¬ 
quisite frame for the young girl’s radiant beauty. 

Confused and blushing, Bettina called her sister to 
her aid; and Mrs. Scott had no little trouble in bring¬ 
ing order out of this delightful disorder. 

When the accident was at length repaired, nothing 
could prevent Bettina seizing the plates, and the knives 
and forks. 

“Why, monsieur,” said she to Jean, “I know' per¬ 
fectly well how to set the table. Ask my sister. Say, 
Suzie, when I was a little girl in New York, didn’t I 
know how to set the table ? ” 

“Yes; very well,” replied Mrs. Scott. 

And she, too, while she begged the cure to excuse 
Bettina’s thoughtlessness, took off her hat and cloak; 
and Jean, for the second time, had the delightful 
vision of a charming figure and wonderful hair. 


54 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN, 


But the accident did not occur a second time, much to 
Jean’s regret. 

A few minutes later, Mrs. Scott, Miss Percival, the 
cure and Jean, sat down to the little parsonage table; 
and then, through their unexpected and extraordinary 
meeting—above all, through Bettina’s good humor and 
sprightliness—the conversation very soon became en¬ 
tirely unconstrained and informal. 

“ You will see, Monsieur le Cure, you will see if I 
have told you a story—if I am not starving. I warn 
you that I am ravenous. I was never more pleased to 
sit down at a table. This dinner makes a pleasant 
finish to a happy day. We are delighted, my sister 
and I, to own this chateau, these farms and this 
forest.” 

“And to have it in such an extraordinary fashion. 
It was so unlooked for—so little expected ! ” said Mrs. 
Scott.” 

“You might well say we did not expect it at all, 
Suzie. Do you know, Monsieur l’Abbe, that yester¬ 
day was my sister’s birthday . . . But, pardon, mon¬ 
sieur . . . Monsieur Jean is it not ? ” 

“ Yes, mademoiselle, Monsieur Jean.” 

“ Then, Monsieur Jean, will you give me a little 
more of that excellent soup, if you please ? ” 

The Abbe Constantin began to feel better, and re- 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


55 


cover himself; but he was still too much affected to 
discharge his duties as host quiet correctly; and it 
was Jean who managed his godfather’s modest dinner. 
So he filled the plate of the charming American, who 
looked at him with a pair of large, dark eyes, in 
which shone artlessness, fearlessness and vivacity. 
Jean’s eyes paid her back in the same coin. 

Not three-quarters of an hour before, the young 
American and the young officer spoke to each other, 
in the cure’s garden, for the first time; and already 
they were completely at ease with each other—on con¬ 
fidential, almost intimate terms. 

“ I told you already, Monsieur le Cure, that yester¬ 
day was my sister’s birthday. A week ago my brother 
in-law was obliged to go to America. Just as he was 
starting, he said to my sister: 4 1 shall not be here on 
your birthday, but you will hear from me.’ So, yes¬ 
terday there came presents and bouquets from all di¬ 
rections; but up to five o’clock nothing from my 
brother-in-law—nothing. We went out to the Bois 

on horse-back and —a propos of horses-” 

She stopped short, and looked down inquiringly at 
Jean’s dusty boots, then she cried : 

“ Why, Monsieur, you wear spurs ? ” 

“ Yes, mademoiselle.” 

“ You are in the cavalry ? ” 



56 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


“ I am in the artillery, mademoiselle, and the artil¬ 
lery is cavalry.” 

“ And your regiment is stationed here ? ” 

“ Yery near here.” 

“ Why, then you will ride with us \ ” 

“ With the greatest pleasure, mademoiselle.” 

“ That is all. Let me see, where was I ? ” 

“ You do not know, Bettina, where you are; and 
you are telling these gentlemen all sorts of things 
which cannot interest them.” 

“ Oh ! I beg your pardon, madame,” said the cure. 
“ The sale of the chateau is the great question of this 
province, just now—and mademoiselle’s story interests 
us very much.” 

“ There, Suzie, you see my story interests Monsieur 
le Cure very much. Now I will go on. We went 
out for a ride, we came back at seven o’clock—noth¬ 
ing. We went to dinner, and just as we rose from 
the table, a despatch from America arrived—only two 
lines: ‘ I have, to-day, bought for you, in your own 
name, the chateau and domain of Longueval, near 
Souvigny, on the Northern Road.’ Then we began to 
laugh, like two children, at the idea.” 

“ No, no Bettina, that is not quite true. You do 
us both injustice. Our first emotion was one of grati¬ 
tude. We are fond of the country, my sister and I. 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


57 


My husband, who is very indulgent, knew that we 
were anxious to have a country seat in France. He 
has been looking for six months, but could find nothing. 
At last, without telling us, he discovered this chateau, 
which was to be sold on my birth-Jay. It was a gener¬ 
ous and delicate attention.” 

“ Yes, Suzie, you are right; but after the first out¬ 
burst of gratitude, there was a great outburst of 
laughter.” 

“ That, I acknowledge. When we reflected that we 
suddenly found ourselves—for what belongs to one, 
belongs to the other—proprietors of a chateau, with¬ 
out knowing, where it was, or what it was like, or how 
much it cost—why, it seemed like a fairy story.” For 
five good minutes we laughed heartily. Then we 
took a map of France, and succeeded, not without 
some difficulty, in unearthing Souvigny. After the 
map, it was the Railroad Guide’s turn, and this morn¬ 
ing, at ten o’clock, we took the express train for 
Souvigny. 

“ We have spent the whole day in visiting the chat¬ 
eau, the stables, the farms. We have not seen every 
thing, for it was so immense; but we are delighted 
with everything that we have seen. Only, Monsieur le 
Cure, there is one thing which perplexed me. I know 
that the estate was publicly sold yesterday—I saw the 


58 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


large placards, all along the road. But I did not dare 
ask any one of the farmers or keepers who accom¬ 
panied us on our rounds—my ignorance would have 
looked so foolish!—how much it all cost. My husband 
forgot to tell me, in his dispatch. It is only a little 
thing, in the delights of ownership, but I would not 
be sorry to know. Tell me, Monsieur le Cure, tell me, 
if you know—the price of it.” 

“ An enormous price,” replied the cure. 

“An enormous price! You frighten me. How 
much exactly ? ” 

“ Three millions ! ” 

“ Only three millions! ” cried Mrs. Scott; “ the 
farms, the forests, and all for three millions ? ” 

“ Yes, three millions.” 

“Why, that is nothing,” said Bettina. “ That 
charming little river, going through the park is, alone, 
worth three millions.” 

“And you said, just now, Monsieur le Cure, you 
said there were many persons who bid against us for 
the lands and the chateau ? ” 

“Yes, madame.” 

“And was my name mentioned before these people, 
after the sale ? ” 

“ Yes, madame.” 

“And when my name was mentioned, was there any 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


59 


one who knew me, who spoke of me % Yes—yes— 
Your silence answers me—they did speak of me. Ah! 
well, I am serious now, Monsieur le Cure, very seri¬ 
ous. I beg of you, as a favor, tell me what they said 
about me.” 

“ Why, madame,” replied the poor cure, who was 
on hot coals, “ they spoke of your large fortune.” 

“Yes, they must have spoken of that; no doubt 
they said I was very rich, and very recently a parvenue , 
did they not ? Yery well; but that was not all, 
they must have said something else.” 

“ No, I did not hear anything.” 

“ Oh ! Monsieur le Cure, you are telling what you 
call a pious story. I distress you, for you are truth it¬ 
self. But if I thus torment you, it is becausa I have a 
great interest in knowing what was said.” 

“ Mon dieu! madame,” interrupted Jean, “ You are 
right, they did say something else, only my godfather 
is a little embarrassed in telling you ; but, since you 
insist, they said that you were one of the most elegant, 
most brilliant, most-.” 

“ One of the prettiest women in Baris ? They 
might say that, as a little compliment, one could say 
it; but that was not all. There was something else.” 

“Ah ! for instance-” 

“ Yes ; there was something else, and I would like 




60 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


to have a frank, plain explanation with yon now. I 
do not know—but I think this is one of my lucky 
days; it may be too soon to say it, perhaps, but it 
seems to me that both of you are, in some degree, my 
friends. Well, then, tell me, if false, absurd stories 
are told about me; am I not right in thinking that you 
will help me to contradict them ? ” 

“ Yes, madame,” replied Jean with eagerness, “ you 
are right in thinking so.” 

“ Then it is to you, monsieur, that I address myself. 
You are a soldier. It belongs to your profession to 
have courage. Promise me to be brave. Do yon 
promise me ? ” 

“ What do you understand, madame, by being 
brave ? ” 

“ Promise—promise without explanations or con¬ 
ditions.” 

“ Well, then, I promise.” 

“You will answer, then, frankly, yes or no, to the 
questions that I am going to ask, you.” 

“ I will answer.” 

“ Did they tell you that I had begged in the streets 
of New York?” 

“ Yes, madame, they told me so.” 

“And that I had been a rider in a traveling circus ? ” 

“ They told me that, madame.” 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


61 


“I thought it! Well, yon have heard the worst! 
But I would observe, in the first place, that there is 
nothing discreditable in all that. But if it is not true, 
have I not the right to say that it is not true \ And 
it is not true. I will tell you my history in a few 
words ; and if I tell it to you —on the very first day— 
it is that you will have the goodness to repeat it to 
all those who speak of me to you. I am going to 
spend a part of my life in this country, and I desire to 
have it known where I come from, and what I am. 
Poor ! that I have been—very poor. It was eight 
years ago. My father had just died—very soon after 
the death of our mother. I was eighteen years old, 
and Bettina nine. We were alone in the world, with 
heavy debts and a great lawsuit. My father’s last 
words were: ‘ Suzie, never compromise the lawsuit, 
never, never. You will have millions, my children, 
millions ! ’ He kissed us both. Then his mind wan¬ 
dered, and he died, repeating: 4 Millions ! ’ The next 
day an agent presented himself, who offered to pay all 
our debts and give me ten thousand dollars, if I would sell 
my interest in the lawsuit. It concerned the possession 
of a large tract of land in Colorado. I refused. Then 
it was, that for several months, we were very poor.” 

“And it was then,” said Bettina, “ that I used to set 
the table.” 


62 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


“ I spent all my time in the offices of New York 
lawyers; but none of them would take charge of my 
interests. Everywhere the same response: ‘ Your 

case is very doubtful; your opponents are very rich 
and formidable, money is needed; money to carry on 
the suit, and you have none. You have had an offer 
of ten thousand dollars, besides having all your debts 
paid, accept it, sell your suit.’ But I could always 
hear my father’s last words, and I would not consent. 
Poverty might, however, have soon constrained me, 
when, one day, I solicited an interview with one of my 
father’s friends, Mr. William Scott, a banker in New 
York. He was not alone; a young man was sitting 
in his office near his desk. ‘ You can talk freely,’ 
said he, 4 this is my son, Bichard Scott. I looked at 
the young man, and he looked at me, and then we 
recognized each other. ‘ Suzie! ’ ‘ Bichard ! ’ He held 
'out his hand to me. He was twenty-three and I was 
eighteen, as I have told you. We had played together 
very often when we were children. Then we were 
great friends. Seven or eight years before, he went 
to finish his education in France and in England. His 
father made me sit down, and asked me what brought 
me to him. I told him. He listened and replied, 
‘You will need twenty or thirty thousand dollars. 
No one will lend you such a sum on the uncertain 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


63 


chances of a complicated lawsuit. It would be folly. 

If you are in need, if you want assistance-’ 4 That 

is not what Miss Percival asks,’ said Richard, warmly. 
4 1 know it; hut what she asks of me is impossible.’ 
He rose to wait upon me to the door. Then I broke 
down for the first time since my father’s death. I had 
been strong until then, but I felt my courage exhaust¬ 
ed. I could bear no more, and I burst into tears. At 
length 1 recovered myself and went away. An hour 
afterward, Richard Scott came to see me. 4 Suzie,’ 
said he, 4 promise to accept what I am going to offer 
you; promise me.’ I promised him. 4 Well,’ said he, 
4 1 will put the necessary sum at your disposal, on the 
single condition that my father shall know nothing of 
it.’ 4 But you must know about my claim, so that 
you will understand what it is, what it is worth.’ 4 1 
do not know the first word about your claim, and I do 
not wish to know. Where would be the merit of as¬ 
sisting you, if I were sure of getting my money back ? 

A/ 

Besides, you have promised to accept it. It is done. 
There is no going back.’ It was offered to me with 
such simplicity, such openness of heart, that I accepted. 
Three months afterward, we gained our cause. The 
property became indisputably ours, and we were offered 
five millions for it. I went to consult Richard. 4 Re¬ 
fuse and wait,’ said he, 4 if they offer you such a sum, 



64 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


it is because the land is worth double.’ ‘ But I must 
pay you back your money. I owe you a great sum of 
money.’ 6 Oh! that will do later, there is no haste; 
I am doing well for the present, my credit is in no 
danger.’ ‘ But I want to pay you immediately; I 
have such a horror of debt! Perhaps there will be 
a way without selling the property. Bichard, will you 
be my husband? ’ Yes, Monsieur le Cure; yes, mon¬ 
sieur,” said Mrs. Scott, laughing, “ It was I who 
threw myself like that at my husband’s head. It was I 
who asked for his hand. That you can tell to all the 
world, and you will only tell the truth. Besides, I 
was obliged to make this offer. Never, oh! I am as 
sure of it as I am of my life, he would never have 
spoken. I had become too rich. And, as he loved 
me, and not my money, my money frightened him a 
little. That is the history of my marriage. As to 
the history of our fortune, that can be told in a few 
words. There was, indeed, millions in these tracts of 
land in Colorado ; they were found to contain very 
rich silver mines, and from these mines we receive 
every year a fabulous income. 

“ But we are all agreed, my husband, my sister and 
I, to give a large share of this income to the poor; you 
see, Monsieur le Cure, it is because we have known 
such bitter days. Bettina can remember when she 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


65 


was our little housekeeper in that fifth story room, in 
New York. It is for that reason, you will always 
find us ready to help those who, as we have been, are 
struggling amidst the misfortunes and hardships of 
life. And now, Monsieur Jean, will you pardon this 
long discourse, and give me a little of that tempting 
cream ? ” 

The cream was Pauline’s composition of eggs and 
milk—and while Jean hastened to serve Madame 
Scott, she continued : 

“ I have not yet told you all. You must know how 
these extravagant stories were started. When we 
first came to Paris, a year ago, we felt it our duty to 
give a certain sum of money to the poor. Who told 
of it ? Not we, certainly; but the fact was published 
in one of the newspapers, with the amount. Directly 
two young reporters came running to Mr. Scott to ask 
him a whole catalogue of questions about his past. 
They wanted to write about us in the papers—a . . . 
how do you say that ?—a sketch of our lives. Mr. Scott 
is sometimes a little hasty. He was that day ; and he 
dismissed these gentlemen, very abruptly, without 
telling them anything. Then, not knowing our true 
history, they invented an imaginary one. The first 
one said, that I had begged in the snow, in New 
York; and the second, the next day, to make his 


66 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


article still more sensational, made me jump through 
the paper balloons in a circus at Philadelphia. You 
have some very droll journals in Prance, and we also 
—in America.” 

Now, for the last five minutes Pauline had been 
making the most frantic signals to the cure, who so 
completely failed to understand them, that at last the 
poor woman, summoned all her courage : 

“ Monsieur le cure, it is a quarter after seven.” 

“ A quarter after seven ! Oh ! ladies, 1 beg you to 
excuse me. I have a service this evening; it is the 
month of Mary.” 

“ The month of Mary—and is the service to be 
soon ? ” 

“ Yes, immediately.” 

“ And at exactly what time is our train to Paris ? ” 

“ At half past nine,” replied Jean, “ and you need 
only fifteen or twenty minutes to reach the station.” 

“Then Suzie, we could go to church.” 

“ We will go to church,” replied Madame Scott, 
“ but before we part, Monsieur le Cure, I have a favor 
to ask of you. I want to have you dine with me, 
without fail, the first time that I dine at my new 
home at Longueval, and you, too, Monsieur—all alone, 
just we four, like to-day. Oh! do not refuse; the 
invitation is heartily given.” 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


67 


“ And heartily accepted, madame,” replied Jean. 

“ I will write to let you know the day. I will come 
as soon as possible. You call that hanging the crane 
do you not? Well! we will hang the crane, we four.” 

Pauline had carried Miss Percival off into a corner 
of the room, and was talking very earnestly. Their 
conversation ended with these words: 

“ You will be there ? ” said Bettina. 

“ Yes, I will be there.” 

“ And you will tell me just the right moment ? ” 

u I will tell you, but take care, here comes Monsieur 
le Cure, and he must not suspect anything.” 

The two sisters, the cure and Jean came out of the 
house. They went through the cemetery to the 
church. The evening was delightful. Slowly and 
silently all four walked through the little pathway, in 
the last rays of the setting sun. They approached the 
monument at Doctor Reynaud’s grave, which, though 
simple, was, by its proportions, conspicuous among 
the other tomb-stones. Mrs. Scott and Bettina 
stopped, their attention drawn by this inscription 
which it bore: 


68 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


“HERE LIES THE BODY OF 

“DOCTOR MARCEL REYNAUD,” 

“ Surgeon-Major of the regiment drafted at Souvigny, 
killed on the 8th of January, 1871, at the battle of 
Villersexel. ,, 

“Pray for Him.” 

When they had finished reading it, the cure, point¬ 
ing to Jean, said simply * 

u It was his father ! ” 

The two women drew near the tombstone and stood 
with bowed heads for a few moments, affected, pen¬ 
sive, in meditation. Then, turning around, they both 
at the same moment held out their hand to the young 
officer and went on towards the church. Jean’s father 
had had their first prayer at Longueval. 

The cure went to put on his surplice and stole— 
Jean conducted Mrs. Scott to the pew, which for 
two centuries had been reserved for the owners of 
Longueval. 

Pauline had preceded them. She was waiting for 
Miss Percival, in the shadow of a column in the 
church. She led Bettina up the steep narrow stair¬ 
case, into the gallery and seated her at the harmonium. 

The old cure came out of the sacristy, preceded by 
two choristers, and just as he knelt down on the steps 
of the altar: 

“ This is the moment, mademoiselle,” said Pauline 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


69 


whose heart was beating with eagerness, “ Poor clear 
man, how happy he will be ! ” 

When he heard the organ’s strain rise softly, like a 
murmer on the air, and swelling, fill the little church, 
the Abbe Constantin was touched, with such tender 
emotion that the tears came to his eyes. It was the 
first time he had wept, since that day when Jean told 
him that he wanted to share all that he had with the 
mothers and sisters of those who fell at his father’s 
side, under the German bullets. 

That tears might come again to the old priest’s eyes, 
it was necessary that a little American girl, should 
cross the sea, and come to play one of Chopin’s 
Reveries in the church at Longueval. 


IV. 

The next morning at half-past five, the bugle 
sounded through the quarters. Jean mounted, and 
took command of his section. 

At the end of May all the recruits in the army are 
trained, and ready to take part in the general drill. 
Almost every day they execute different manoeuvers 
with the field batteries. 

Jean loved his profession; he was accustomed to 
superintend with the greatest care the caparison and 
harness of the horses, and the equipment, and bearing 
of Ins men ; but this morning he gave very little atten¬ 
tion to these small details of the service. 

A problem troubled him, perplexed him, left him 
undecided, 'and this problem was one of those whose 
solution is not given in the Polytechnic School. Jean 
could not find the exact answer to this question : 

“ Which of the two is the prettier ? ” 

On drill, during the first part of the manoeuvres 

each battery works independently, under the captain’s 
70 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN". 


71 


orders—but he often puts one of his lieutenants in his 
place, so that he may be accustomed to the command 
of six pieces. That very morning it so happened, that 
from the beginning of the manoeuvre, the command 
was given to Jean. To the captain’s great surprise, 
who considered his first lieutenant a very well-trained, 
competent, skilful officer, everything went wrong. 
Jean ordered two or three false movements—and 
neither keeping up nor correcting the distances, the 
horses several times came in contact. The captain was 
obliged to interfere. He gave Jean a slight reprimand 
which ended in these words: 

“ I cannot understand it. What is the matter with 
you this morning ? It is the first time this ever hap¬ 
pened.” 

And it was also the first time that Jean ever saw on 
parade, anything besides guns and drums, anything 
besides soldiers and leaders. In the clouds of dust 
raised by the carriage wheels and the horses’ feet, 
Jean saw, not the second mounted battery of the 9th 
Artillery, but the distinct image of two Americans 
with dark eyes under golden hair. And at the very 
moment when he was receiving the merited rebuke of 
his captain, Jean was saying to himself: 

“ Madame Scott is the prettier.” 

The drill is divided every morning by a little rest of 


72 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


ten minutes. Tlie officers get together and chat. Jean 
stayed by himself, alone with his memories of the day 
before. His thoughts returned, persistently, to the 
parsonage at Longueval. Yes, Mrs. Scott was the 
more charming of the two. Miss Percival was only a 
child. He saw again Mrs. Scott at the cure’s little 
table. He heard again her story, told with such frank¬ 
ness and so naively. The slightly foreign tone of 
her peculiar, penetrating voice still charmed his ears— 
he was again in the church. She was there, in front 
of him, bending over her prie-dieu , her pretty head in 
her two little hands. Then the organ began to sound, 
and in the shadows at a distance Jean could see Bet- 
tina’s elegant, refined profile. 

A child ! Was she only a child ? The trumpets 
sounded. The drill began again. Fortunately, this 
time, no more commands, no more responsibilities. 
The four batteries executed the evolutions together. 
This large body of men, horses and carriages could be 
seen wheeling in every way, sometimes drawn out in 
a long line of battle, sometimes contracted into a com¬ 
pact body. The soldiers leaped from their horses, 
saw to the gun, took it off the carriage which went off 
on a trot—and put it in place ready for firing with 
surprising rapidity. Then the carriages returned, the 
guns were mounted again, the soldiers sprang into the 


THE ABBE CON ST AjNTLN . 


T6 


saddle and the regiment rushed across the field at a 
rapid rate. 

Bettina began slowly to get the advantage of Mrs. 
Scott in Jean's thoughts. She appeared to him 
smiling and blushing amid the sunlit waves of her dis¬ 
hevelled hair —Monsieur Jean —she called him Mon¬ 
sieur Jean, and his name never sounded so pleasant to 
him—and those last hand-shakings at parting, as they 
got into the carriage. Miss Percival’s was a little 
warmer than Mrs. Scott’s-—a very little—really— 
she had taken off her gloves to play the organ, and 
Jean could still feel the pressure of the little bare 
hand which lay, fresh and soft, in the artillery-man’s 
ugly paw. 

“ I was mistaken just now,” said Jean to himself, 
“ Miss Percival is the prettier.” 

The drill was over. The batteries drew up close 
behind one another, the guns exactly in line, and the 
regiment filed off with a great uproar, a whirlwind of 
dust. When Jean, sword in hand, passed in front of 
the colonel, the two images of the two sisters were so 
blended and confused in his memory that they united, 
and in some way disappeared in each other, and be¬ 
came one and the same person. All comparison be¬ 
came impossible through the strange ambiguity of the 
parallel terms. 


74 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival remained thus in¬ 
separable in Jean’s mind until lie could see them 
again. The impression made by their unexpected 
meeting was not effaced; it remained so fresh and 
sweet that Jean was restless and disturbed. 

“ Can it be ” said to himself, “ that I have been so 
foolish as to fall in love at first sight. But, no ; one 
falls in love with one woman—not two women at 
once.” 

That encouraged him. He was very young—this 
big boy—twenty-four years old. Love had never come 
fully, freely, openly into his heart. lie knew very 
little about love, except in novels, and he had read 
very few novels. He was not an angel, however. lie 
found the grisettes of Souvigny graceful and pretty 
enough; when they wanted him to tell them they were 
charming, he said so very willingly; but as for think¬ 
ing of love in connection with these trivial, ephemeral 
fancies, he never thought of such a thing. 

Paul de Lavardens had wonderful power of passion 
and imagination. Ilis heart could always accommo¬ 
date three or four intense love affairs at the same 
time, which lived there, fraternally, on the best of 
terms. Paul had the talent of finding in this little 
town of fifteen thousand souls, any number of pretty 
giris, all ready to be adored. He was in a perpetual 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


75 


state of discovering America, when in truth he only 
returned to it. 

Jean had seen very little of the world. Paul had 
taken him perhaps a dozen times to halls, and parties 
at the neighboring chateaux. He had come away with 
a feeling of constraint, of embarrassment, and ennui. 
He concluded that such entertainments were not for 
him. His tastes were simple and sedate. He liked 
solitude, labor, long walks, open space, horses, books. 
He was somewhat rustic and provincial. He loved 
his native village and all the old relics of his child¬ 
hood, which spoke to him of by-gone days. A quad¬ 
rille in a salon struck terror to his heart; but every 
year at the fete jpratronale at Longueval, he danced 
merrily enough with the farmers’ wives and daughters. 

If he had seen Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival at 
home, in Paris, in all the splendid luxury, and bril¬ 
liant elegance of their surroundings, he would have 
looked at them from a distance, with curiosity, as 
charming objects (Part. Then he would have gone 
home, and slept, no doubt, as usual, as peacefully as 
possible. 

Y es, but that was not the way it had happened; and 
hence his surprise, his trouble. These two women, by 
the merest chance, had appeared to him amid sur¬ 
roundings which were familiar to him, and which for 


76 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


that reason had been singularly favorable to them. 
Simple, good, frank and cordial, they had been that 
first day. And charmingly pretty, in the bargain, 
which never hurts anything. Jean fell under the 
charm at once—and lie was there yet. 

At the hour when he was dismounting at the 
quarters, the Abbe Constantin was starting joyfully 
on his campaign. The old priest’s head was com¬ 
pletely turned. Jean had not slept very much, and 
the poor cure had not slept at all. 

He rose very early in the morning, and with all the 
doors closed, alone with Pauline, he counted his 
money over and over, spreading his hundred louis out 
on the table, and taking as much delight in handling 
them as a miser. All that money belonged to him ! 
to him ! that is, to his poor. 

“ Don’t go too fast, Monsieur le Cure,” said Pauline. 
“ Be economical. I think a hundred francs is enough 
to distribute to-day.” 

“ It is not enough, Pauline, it is not enough. I can 
have but one such day in my life, but I shall have 
that. Do you know how much I am going to give 
away, Pauline ? ” 

“ IIow much, Monsieur le Cure? ” 

“ A thousand francs.” 


“ A thousand francs ? ” 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


77 


u Yes, we are millionaires now. All the treasure of 
America is ours, and shall I practice economy ? Not 
to-day at any rate. I have no right.” 

At nine o’clock, having said mass, he started out, 
and there was a shower of gold all along his 
way. They all had their share; those who confessed 
their poverty, and those who tried to conceal it. 
Every gift was accompanied with the same little 
speech: 

“ This comes from the new owners of Longueval, 
two Americans—Madame Scott, and Miss Percival. 
Remember the names, and pray for them to-night.” 

Then he went away, without w T aiting for thanks; 
across the fields, through the wood, from hamlet to 
hamlet, from cottage to cottage. A kind of intoxication 
possessed him. Everywhere that he went there were 
exclamations of joy and astonishment. All these gold 
pieces fell, as by a miracle, into these poor hands ac¬ 
customed to receive only little pieces of silver. 

The cure committed follies, real follies. He did 
not know what he was doing, he was beside himself., 
He gave even to those who did not ask. 

He met Claude Rigal, an old sergeant who had 
left one of his arms at Sebastopol, now growing gray, 
for time passes and the soldiers of the Crimea will 
soon be old men. 


78 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


“ Here ” said tlie cure, “ here are twenty francs for 
you.” 

“ Twenty francs! but I ask for nothing, 1 do not 
need it. I have my pension.” 

His pension! seven hundred francs ! 

“ Yery well! ” replied the cure, “ this will buy you 
some cigars; but listen, this comes from America.” 
He repeated his little story about the new owners of 
Longueval. 

He visited a good woman whose son had been 
ordered to Tunis. 

“ Well! how is your son ? ” 

“ Yery well, Monsieur le Cure, I received a letter 
yesterday. He is very well, and he does not com¬ 
plain. Poor boy! I have been saving for a month, 
and I think I shall soon have ten francs to send him.” 

“ You can send him thirty. Take this.” 

“ Twenty francs, Monsieur le Cure ! You give me 
twenty francs ! ” 

“ Yes, I give them to you.” 

“ For my boy \ ” 

“ For your boy. Only listen, you must know where 
they come from; and you must be sure to tell youi 
son when you write to him.” 

The cure for the twentieth time repeated his 
panegyric of Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival. 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


79 


He reached home at six o’clock, exhausted with 
fatigue, hut joy in his soul. 

“ I have given it all away ! ” he cried as soon as he 
saw Pauline, “ given it all! given it all! ” 

He dined, and then went in the evening to recite 
his service for the month of Mary; but when he went 
up to the altar, the harmonium was mute—Miss 


Percival was no longer there. 






The little organist of the day before, was at that 
moment very much perplexed. Spread out on the 
two divans in her dressing-room, were the marvelous 
waves of a white toilette and a blue toilette; and 
Bettina was trying to decide which of these two 
dresses she should wear that evening to the opera. 
Both were charming, but it was necessary to make a 
choice. She could wear only one. After hesitating 
a long time, she decided on the white one. 

At half past nine the sisters were going up the 
grand staircase at the opera. As they entered their 
box the curtain was rising on the second scene in the 
second act of Aida—the act with the ballet- and the 
march. 

Two young men, Bodger de Puymartin and Louis 
de Mortillet, were sitting in the front row of a box on 
the floor of the house. The ballet-dancers were not 
yet en seme , and these gentlemen having nothing to 


80 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


do, amused themselves by looking around the house. 

The appearance of Miss Percival made quite a sen¬ 
sation for them both. 

X* Ah ! ah ! ” said Puymartin, “ there she is, the little 
nugget of gold! ” 

Both turned their opera-glasses upon Bettina. 

“ She is dazzling to-night—the little gold nugget— 
just look at the turn of her shoulders—the curves of 
her arms—a young girl, and yet a woman.” 

“ Yes, she is exquisite—and made of money in the 
bargain.” 

“ Fifteen millions, it seems; fifteen millions in her 
own right, and silver mines increase in value.” 

“ Berulle told me, twenty-five millions, and Berulle 
is well posted on American affairs.” 

“Twenty-five millions! A nice little plum for 
Bomanelli! ” 

“ How for Bomanelli ? ” 

“ Keport says that he is to marry her, that the mar¬ 
riage is decided.” 

“ It may be that a marriage is arranged, but with 
Montessan, not with Bomanelli. Ah! here is the 
ballet at last! ” 

They stopped talking. The ballet in Aida lasts 
only five minutes, and both these young men came on 
purpose for those five minutes. It behooved them to 


THK ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


81 


enjoy them, respectfully, religiously; for there is this 
peculiarity about a certain class of habitues of the 
opera, that they chatter like magpies when they 
ought to be silent and listen, and, on the contrary, they 
preserve an admirable silence when they would be 
permitted to talk while looking. 

The trumpets had sounded their last flourish in 
honor of Radames. In front of the great Sphinx, 
beneath the green palm trees, the glittering ballet 
dancers advanced and took possession of the stage. 

Mrs. Scott watched the evolutions of the ballet 
with much interest and pleasure ; but Bettina suddenly 
became thoughtful as she saw in a box on the other 
side of the house, a tall, dark young man. Miss 
Percival was debating, and said to herself: 

44 What shall I do ? How shall I decide ? Must I 
marry that tall handsome young man opposite me 
who stares at me so, through his opera-glass—for it 
is I he is watching—he will come here presently dur¬ 
ing the entr'acte ; and when he comes, I have only to 
say to him, 4 It is done! Here is my hand—I will be 
your wife 5 —and it would be done. Princesse, I would 
be Princesse! Princesse Romanelli! Princesse Bet¬ 
tina ! Bettina Romanelli! It harmonizes well, it 
sounds very agreeable: 4 Madame la Princesse is served. 5 
4 Will Madame la Princesse go to ride to-morrow 



82 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN 


morning ? ’ Would it amuse me to be Princesse ? Among 
all the young men in Paris who for a year have been 
running after my money, this Prince Romanelli is the 
best of them all. I must make up my mind to marry, 
some day. I think he loves me. Yes, but do I love 
him ? No, 1 think not; and I would like so much to 
love ! Oh! yes, I would like it so much ! ” 



At the very hour when these thoughts were occupy¬ 
ing Bettina’s pretty head, Jean was sitting alone at his 
desk, with a big book under the lamp shade, looking 
over the liistory of Turenne’s campaigns, and taking 
notes. He had been instructed to deliver a course of 
lectures to the non-commissioned officers, and he was 
very prudently preparing for the next day’s duty. 

But all at once in the midst of his notes, Nord- 
lingen, 1645; les dunes , 1658; Mulhausen et Tur- 
cheim , 1674-1675, there appeared a sketch—Jean 
did not draw badly—the picture of a woman came of 
its own accord under his pen. What was she doing 
there in the midst of Turenne’s victories, this pretty 
little woman? And then, which one was it! Mrs. 
Scott or Miss Percival ? How did he know ! They 
were so much alike! And painfully and laboriously 
Jean returned to the history of Turenne’s campaigns* 
At that same hour, the Abbe Constantin, on his 
knees beside his little walnut bedstead, was calling* all 

7 O 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


83 


the blessings of heaven on the two women who had 
caused him to spend such a sweet happy day. 

He prayed God to bless Mrs. Scott in. her 
children, and to give Miss Percival a husband after 
her heart. 


V. 


Formerly Paris belonged to Parisians, and that for¬ 
merly is not so very distant; thirty or forty years, at 
most. The French at that period, owned Paris—just 
as the English own London; the Spanish, Madrid ; and 
the Russians, St. Petersburg. That time has passed. 
There are yet frontiers for other countries, there are 
no longer any for France. Paris has become an im¬ 
mense tower of Babel, an international, miscellaneous 
city. Foreigners do not only come to visit Paris; they 
come to live there. 

We have now in Paris, a Russian colony, a Spanish 
colony, a Turkish colony, an American colony; these 
colonies have their churches, their bankers, their phy¬ 
sicians, their newspapers, their ministers, their priests, 
and their dentists. Foreigners have already made con¬ 
quest of the larger part of the Champs-Llysees and the 
Boulevard Malesherbes; they advance, they spread— 
we retreat, driven back by the invasion; we are forced 
to expatriate ourselves. We are obliged to found 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


85 


colonies in the plain of Possy, in the plain of Monceau, 
in quarters which formerly were not Paris at all, and 
which are not yet altogether Paris. 

Among these foreign colonies, the most numerous, 
the richest, the most brilliant, is the American colony. 
There comes a moment when an American feels that 
he is rich enough; a Frenchman, never. The American 
then stops, takes breath, and while taking care of his 
capital, no longer saves his income; he knows how to 
spend; the Frenchman knows only how to save. 

A Frenchman has only one single luxury, his rev¬ 
olutions. Prudently and wisely he saves himself for 
them, knowing well they cost France dearly, but that 
at the same time they will be the occasion of very 
advantageous investments. The financial history of 
our country is only one long loan, perpetually open. 
The Frenchman says to himself: 

“ Hoard ! hoard! hoard ! Some of these days there 
will be a revolution which will make the five per cents 
fall to fifty or sixty francs. I will buy some. Since 
revolutions are inevitable, let us at least try to derive 
some profit from them.” 

It is continually told how many people are ruined 
by revolutions, but a still larger number of people are 
enriched by revolutions. 

Americans yield readily to the attractions of Paris. 


86 


THE ABBE CONST AH TIN. 


There is nowhere in the world a city where a fortune 
can be spent more easily or more agreeabty. By rea¬ 
son of their parentage and origin, this attraction was 
felt by Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival to an extra¬ 
ordinary degree. 

Canada, which no longer belongs to us, is the most 
French of our colonies. The recollection of the 
mother-country is still strong and sweet to the heart 
of the exile in Quebec and Montreal. Suzie Percival 
had received from her mother an entirely French edu¬ 
cation, and she had brought up her sister in the same 
love for France. 

As soon as the avalanche of millions descended 
upon them, the same desire took possession of 
both; to live in Paris. They desired Paris, as 
one’s country is desired. Mr. Scott made some op¬ 
position. 

“ When I am no longer here,” said he, “ and only 
come to spend two or three months of every year in 
America, to look after your interests, you will find 
that your incomes will diminish.” 

“ What does it matter ! ” replied Suzie, “ we are 
rich, too rich. Let us go, I entreat you. We will be 
so contented ! so happy ! ” 

Mr. Scott allowed himself to be persuaded; and 
early in January, 1880, Suzie wrote to li-er friend Ivatie 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


87 


Norton, who liad been living in Paris for years, the 
following letter : 

“ Victory! It is decided ! Richard has consented. 
I shall arrive in April, and become French again. You 
have offered to take charge of all the preparations for 
our establishment in Paris. I am horribly inconsider¬ 
ate—I accept. 

“ I would like to be able to enjoy Paris as soon as I 
get there, and not lose my first month chasing after 
upholsterers, carriage makers and horse dealers. I 
would like to find at the station, when I get off the 
train, my carriage, my coachman, and my horses. I 
would like to dine with myself, at my own house. 
Either rent or buy a house, engage servants, choose 
the carriages, the horses, the liveries. I leave it all 
to you. Only let the liveries be blue, that is all. This 
line is added at Bettina’s request, who is looking over 
my shoulder as I write you. 

“ We shall bring with us to France only seven per¬ 
sons. Richard will bring his valet; Bettina and I and 
our maids, two governesses for the children, and two 
boys, Toby, and Bobby,—our little grooms. They 
ride so well. Two perfect little loves; the same 
height, the same figures, almost the same faces; 
we could never find, in Paris, grooms better 
matched. 

“ Every thing else, servants, and furniture we leave 
in New York. No, not everything. I forgot to men¬ 
tion four little ponies, four little jewels—black as ink, 


88 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


with white feet, all around—all four of them; we did 
not have the heart to leave them. We drive them in 
a phaeton, and both Bettina and I can drive four-in- 
hand very well. Can women drive four-in-hand early 
in the morning, in the Bois, without too much scandal ? 
They can here. 

“ Above all, my dear Katie, do not count the cost. 
Spend money foolishly, like a spendthrift. That is all 
I ask of you.” 

The same day that Mrs. Norton received this 
letter, the news came out of the failure of a certain 
Garneville, a large speculator, who had overreached 
himself. He had prepared for a fall, when he should 
have been ready for a rise. This Garneville had taken 
possession of a house only six weeks before, newly 
built, and with no other fault than a too glaring mag¬ 
nificence. 

Mrs. Norton took a lease of it, at a hundred 
thousand francs a year, with the privilege of buying 
the house and furniture, at two millions, during the 
first year. A fashionable upholsterer was engaged to 
correct and modify the excessive luxury of the gaudy 
staring furniture. That done, Mrs. Scott’s friend 
was so fortunate as to put her hand, the very first thing 
on two of those eminent artists, without whom no 
large house can be properly established, or carried on. 

In the first place a first-class chef de cuisi?ie who 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


89 


had just left an old family in the faubourg Saint 
Germain—to his great regret—for his sentiments were 
aristocratic. It was very painful to him to go into 
the service of foreigners. 

u Never,” said he to Mrs. Norton, “ never w r ould 
I have left the service of Madame la Baronne, if she 
had kept up her household on the same footing; but 
Madame la Baronne has four children—two sons who 
are spendthrifts, and two daughters who will soon be 
the proper age to marry. They must have marriage 
portions. So, Madame la Baronne is obliged to re¬ 
trench a little, and the establishment is no longer ex¬ 
tensive enough for me.” This distinguished artist had 
conditions to make, which, though extravagant, did 
not frighten Mrs. Norton, who knew she was ne¬ 
gotiating with a man of uncpiestionable merit; but, 
he, before deciding, asked permission to telegraph to 
New York. He wished to make some inquiries. The 
reply was favorable. He accepted. 

The other great artist who had been in charge of 
some of the leading racing stables was of unusual 
talent, and was about to retire on the fortune 
he had made. He consented, however, to organize 
Mrs. Scott’s stables. It was understood that he 
was to have carte blanche in the purchase of horses, 
was not to wear livery, was to select the coachman, 


90 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


grooms and ostlers; that there was never to be less than 
fif teen horses in the stables, that no bargain was to he 
made with a carriage maker, or saddler except through 
him, and that he was to mount the box only in the 
morning, in ordinary dress , to give lessons in driving 
to the ladies and children, if it were necessary. 

The chef took possession of his ranges, and the head 
groom of his stables. All the rest was only a question 
of money, and Mrs. Norton used to the utmost the 
full powers given her. She carried out the instruc¬ 
tions she had received. In the short period of two 
months she performed real miracles, so that the Scott 
establishment was absolutely complete, and absolutely 
faultless. 

And, so, when, at half-past four, on the 15th of 
April, 1880, Mr. Scott, Suzie and Bettina alighted 
from the Havre express, on the platform of the station 
at Saint Lazare, they found Mrs. Norton, who said 
to them: 

“ Your caleche is here, in the court—behind the 
caleche is a landau, for the children; and behind the 
landau, an omnibus for the servants. The three 
carriages bear your monogram, are driven by your 
coachmen, and drawn by your horses. You live at 
24 Rue Murillo, and here is the menu of your dinner 
this evening. You invited me two months ago, I 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


91 


have accepted, and even taken the liberty of bringing 
fifteen people with me. I have provided everything, 
even the guests. Do not be alarmed ! You know 
them all, they are mutual friends; and from this even¬ 
ing we can judge of the merits of your cook. 

Mrs. Norton gave Mrs. Scott a pretty little carte 
with a gold band, on which were these words: 

“ Menu du diner du 15, avril, 1880. 

and below 

Consomme d la Parisienne, 

“ Truites saumonees d la russe, etc.” 

The first Parisian who had the honor and pleasure 
of doing homage to the beauty of Mrs. Scott and 
Miss Percival, was a little scullion, about fifteen years 
old, who, dressed in white, his willow basket on his 
head, was passing just as Mrs. Scott’s coachman 
was making his way slowly through the crowd of 
carriages at the station. The little scullion stopped 
short, on the sidewalk, stood glaring in amazement at 
the two sisters, and then boldly shouted, full in their 
faces, the single word, 

“ Mazette ! ” 

When she saw wrinkles and white hair begin to 
come, Madame Pecamier said to one of her friends: 

“ All! ma chere , there are no more illusions for me. 
Ever since the day when I saw' that the little ehim- 


92 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


ney-sweeps no longer turned in tlie street to look at 
me, I knew that it was all over.” 

The opinion of little scullions is worth as much in 
similar cases as the opinion of chimney-sweeps. All 
was not over for Suzie and Bettina. On the contrary, 
all was just beginning. 

Five minutes later Mrs. Scott’s caleche was roll 
ing along the Boulevard Haussman at the slow, meas¬ 
ured pace of two admirable horses; Paris numbered 
two Parisians more. The success of Mrs. Scott 
and Miss Percival was immediate, decided, and start¬ 
ling. The beauties of Paris are not classified and cat¬ 
alogued like the beauties of London. They do not 
have their portraits published in the illustrated journ’ 
als, and they do not allow their photographs to be on 
sale at the stationers ; there always exist however a 
little staff of about twenty women who represent the 
Igrace, the elegance, and the beauty of Paris—and 
these women after ten or a dozen years of service pass 
into the reserve corps, like old generals. 

Suzie and Bettina at once took their places on this 
little staff. It was the affair of twenty-four hours— 
not even twenty-four hours, for it all was done be¬ 
tween eight o’clock in the morning and midnight of 
the day following their arrival. 

Imagine a sort of spectacle in the three acts, the 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


93 


success of which increased with each tableau. 

1st. A ride on horseback in the Bois, at ten o’clock 
in the morning, with the two marvellous grooms im¬ 
ported from America. 

2nd. A walk at six o’clock in the Alice des Acacias. 

3rd. An appearance in the evening, in Mrs. Nor¬ 
ton’s box at the Opera. 

The two new-comers were immediately noticed and 
appreciated by the thirty or forty persons who consti¬ 
tute a sort of mysterious tribunal, and render in the 
name of all Paris, a verdict from which there is no 
appeal. These thirty or forty people have, from time 
to time, a fancy for declaring charming , some woman 
who is obviously ugly. That is enough. She is charm¬ 
ing , dating from that day. 

The beauty of the two sisters was beyond dispute. 
In the morning, their grace, their elegance and air of 
distinction were admired ; in the afternoon, it was de¬ 
clared that they had the free, firm steps of young god¬ 
desses ; and in the evening there was only one voice 
as to the ideal perfection of their shoulders. The 
game was won. All Paris, from that time, saw the 
two sisters with the eyes of the little scullion on the 
Hue d’Amsterdam ; all Paris repeated his “ Mazette I ” 
that is with the changes and variations imposed by the 
customs of society. 


94 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


Mrs. Scott’s salon immediately took shape. Tht 
habitues of three or four great American houses went 
en masse to see the Scotts, who had three hundred 
people at their first Wednesday. Their circle increas¬ 
ed very rapidly; there was a little of everything in 
their list: Americans, Spaniards, Italians, Hungarians, 
Russians, and even Parisians. 

When Mrs. Scott related her history to the Abbe 
Constantin, she did not tell him everything; one 
never does tell everything. She knew that she was 
charming, liked to have it acknowledged, and did not 
hate to be told so. In short, she was a coquette. 
Would she have been a Parisian, otherwise. Mr. 
Scott had full confidence in his wife, and allowed her 
perfect freedom. He was seldom seen. 

He was an honest man, and felt sometimes embar¬ 
rassed that he had made such a marriage, that he had 
married so much money. Having a taste for business, 
he took pleasure in devoting himself entirely to the 
management of the two enormous fortunes in his 
hands, in increasing it constantly, and in saying every 
year to his wife and sister-in-law: 

“ You are still richer than you were last year.” 

Hot contented with guarding with much interest 
and skill the investments which he had left in Amer¬ 
ica, he embarked in large enterprises in France, and 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN - . 


95 


succeeded in Paris as he had succeeded in New York. 
In order to make money, there is nothing like having 
no need to make it. 

Mrs. Scott was courted, she was courted im¬ 
mensely . . She was courted in French, in English, 
in Spanish, in Italian,—for she knew these four 
languages,—and this is another advantage which 
foreigners have over poor Parisians, who generally 
know only their mother-tongue and have not the re¬ 
source of international passions. 

Mrs. Scott did not drive people out of doors 
with a stick. She had ten, twenty, thirty adorers at 
the same time. None of them could boast of any 
preference whatever; she was the same to all—agree¬ 
able, playful, smiling. It was clear that she only 
amused herself at the game, and never took a serious 
part in it. She played for the pleasure, the honor, 
the love of the art. Mr. Scott never had the least un¬ 
easiness ; he was perfectly right in being undisturbed. 
Moreover, he enjoyed the success of his wife; he was 
happy in seeing her happy. He loved her very much 
—a little more than she loved him—she loved him 
very well, and that explains all. There is a great dif¬ 
ference between well and mwcA, when these two ad¬ 
verbs are placed after the verb : to love. 

As for Bettina, there was around her a curious 


90 THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 

chase, a detestable circle ! Such a fortune ! Such a 
beauty ! Miss Percival arrived in Paris on the 15th of 
April; a fortnight had not passed before offers of mar¬ 
riage began to rain down. In the course of the first 
year, Bettina amused herself keeping this little ac¬ 
count very exactly—in the course of the first year she 
might, if she had wished, have married thirty-four 
times—and such a variety of aspirants. 

Her hand was asked for a young exile, who, in cer¬ 
tain events, might be called to a throne—quite small, 
it is true, but still a throne. 

Her hand was asked for a young duke, who would 
make a great figure at court, when France—and this 
was inevitable!—should recognize her errors and re¬ 
turn to her legitimate rulers. 

Her hand was asked for a young prince, who would 
take his place on the steps of the throne, when France 
—and this was inevitable!—should reunite the chain of 
Napoleonic traditions. 

Her hand was asked for a young republican mem¬ 
ber, who had just made a very brilliant debut at the 
Chambre and for whom the future had brilliant des¬ 
tinies in store, for the Bepublic was now established 
in France upon indistructible foundations. 

Her hand was asked for a young Spaniard, of the 
highest rank; and it was intimated to her, that the 


TiiJfl ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


97 


ceremonials of the contract would take place in the 
palace of a queen, who lives not very far from the 
Arc de VEtoile . . . Her name is found, too, in 
the Almanac Eottin , for there are queens whose names 
are in Bottin to-day between a notary and a herborist. 
It is only the kings of France who no longer live in 
France. 

Her hand was asked for the son of an English peer, 
and for the son of a member of the House of Lords in 
Vienna; for the son of a banker in Paris, and the son 
of a Hussian embassador; for a Hungarian count and 
for an Italian prince ; and also for brave little young 
men who had nothing, neither name nor fortune. 
But Miss Bettina gave them all a turn in the waltz; 
and believing themselves to be irresistible, they hoped 
to have made her heart beat.^/ 

Nothing up to the present had made her little heart 
beat, and the reply to all had been the same: 

“ No ! no ! Still no ! Always no ! 55 

Some days after the performance of Aida, the two 
sisters had a long conversation on this important, eter¬ 
nal question of marriage. A certain name mentioned 
by Mrs. Scott, provoked the most distinct and ener¬ 
getic refusal on Miss Percival’s part. 

And Suzie, laughing, said to her sister: “ You will, 
however, be forced to marry at last Bettina . . ” 


98 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


“ Yes, certainly; but I should be so sorry, Suzie, to 
marry without love. It seems to me that to make up 
my mind to do such a thing, there would have to be 
every chance of dying an old maid; and I am not that 
yet.” 

“ Ho, not yet.” 

“ Let us wait then, let us wait! ” 

<k We will wait! But among all these lovers whom 
you have dragged after you for a year, there have 
been some very handsome, agreeable ones; and it is 
certainly a little strange that none of them—.” 

“ Hone! dear Suzie, absolutely not one ! Why 
should I not tell you the truth ? Is it their fault ? 
Have they been awkward ? Would they, if they had 
been more skilful, have found the way to my heart ? 
Or, is it my fault ? Can this road to my heart be, 
perhaps, a horrible, steep, stony, inacessible road, by 
which no one can pass ? Can I be a wicked little 
creature, hard and cold, and condemned never to 
love ? ” 

“ I do not think so.” 

“ Hor I, either; I have never felt anything which 
resembles love. You laugh—and I can guess why 
you laugh. You are saying to yourself, 4 Look at this 
little girl who pretends to know what it is to love ! 5 
You are right, I do not know; but I can imagine a 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


99 


little. To love, dear Suzie, is it not to prefer a 
certain person to every one, to all tlie world ? ” 

“ Yes, it is very much like that.” 

“ And not to be tired of seeing that person and 
hearing him ? Is it not to cease to live when he is no 
longer here, and to begin to live again as soon as he 
re-appears ? ” 

“ Oh ! oh, that would be a very great love ! ” 
u Ah! well! that is love as I dream of it.” 

“ And that is the love that never comes ? ” 

“ Oh! yes, it does. And yet the person prefer¬ 
red by me, to every one else—do you know who it 
is?” 

“ Ho! I do not know, but I have a slight sus¬ 
picion.” 

“ Yes, it is you my darling, and perhaps it is you 
m y naughty sister, who makes me so insensible and 
cruel. I love you too much. All my love—you 
have all my love—there is no room for any one else. 
To prefer some one to you ! To love some one better 
than you—I never can ! ” 

“ Oh, yes—.” 

“ Oh, no ! To love in another way, perhaps ? but 
better, no. He need not expect it, the man I am 
waiting for and who does not come.” 

“ Do not fear, dear Betty. There will be room in 


100 


.THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


your heart for all whom you should love—for your 
husband, for your children—and that, too, without 
making me, your old sister, lose anything. The heart 
is very little, but it is very large.” 

Bettina kissed her sister tenderly, then leaning her 
head coaxingly on Suzie’s shoulder : 

“ If, however, you are tired of keeping me here 
with you, if you are m a hurry to be rid of me, do 
you know what I will do ? I will put the names of 
two of these gentlemen in a basket and draw lots. 
There are two, who, strictly speaking, would not be 
positively disagreeable to me.” 

“ Which two ? ” 

“ Guess.” 

“ The Prince Bomanell’s ? ” 

“ He is one ; and the other ? ” 

“ M. de Montesson.” 

“ Two. The very two. Yes, these two would be 
acceptable—but only acceptable, and that is not 
enough.” 

This is why Bettina awaited with extreme impa 
tience, the day of their departure for Longueval. She 
was tired of so much pleasure, of so much success, 
and so many offers of marriage. The whirlpool of 
Paris life had drawn her in, from the day of her ar¬ 
rival, and would not release her. Hot an hour of rest, 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


101 


or quiet. She felt the need of being left to herself, 
alone with herself, for a few days at least; to consult 
and question herself, at her leisure, in the quiet and 
solitude of the country, to belong to herself again at 
last. 

So Bettina was very merry and glad when they 
took the train for Longueval on the 14th of June at 
noon. As soon as she found herself alone with her 
sister: 

“Ah l” she cried, “how happy I am. We can 
take breath. To be alone with you for ten days! for 
the Nortons and the Turners do not come until the 
25th, do they ? ” 

“No, not until the 25th.” 

“We will spend our time on horseback and driving 
in the forests, in the fields. Ten days of free¬ 
dom. And during all the ten days, no lovers! no 
lovers! and all these lovers, mon dieu! what are 
they in love with ? With me, or my money ! That 
is the mystery, the impenetrable mystery.” 

The engine whistled, the train was slowly moving. 
A crazy little whim seized Bettina, she leaned out 
of the window and cried, waving her hand: 

“ Adieu, my lovers, adieu ! ” Then she threw her* 
self back in her seat and laughed like a child. 

“ Oh! Suzie ! Suzie ! ” 


102 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


“ What is the matter ? ” 

“A man with a red flag in his hand—he saw 
me ! He heard me ! And he looked so astonished.” 

“You are so foolish ! ” 

“Yes, that is true—to cry out at the window in 
such a way—but not to be happy at the thought that 
we will be all alone, only we two—.” 

“ All alone ! all alone I Hot quite alone. To begin 
with, we will have two persons to dine with us this 
evening.” 

“ Ah! that is true, and I shall not be at all sorry to 
see those two persons again. Yes, I shall be very 
glad to see the old cure, and still more the young 
officer.” 

“ What! still more ? ” 

“ Certainly; because it was so touching, what the 
notary at Souvigny told us the other day, it was so 
good, what this tall artillery officer did when he was so 
little, so good, so good, so good, that I shall seek an 
occasion this evening to tell him what I think of it, 
and I shall find one ! ” 

Then Bettina abruptly changing the conversation ; 
“Was a dispatch sent to Edwards yesterday, for the 
ponies ? ” 

“Yes, before dinner.” 

“Will you let me drive to the chateau? It 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


103 


would please me so much to go through the village, 
make a grand entree, and come up with around turn 
in front of the steps.” 

“ Yes, yes, it is agreed that you are to drive the 
ponies.” 

“ Ah ! how good you are, dear Suzie! ” 

Edwards had arrived at the chateau three days 
before, to see that everything connected with the 
stable was in order. He condescended to come 
himself for Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival. He 
brought the four ponies in the phaeton. He was 
waiting at the station surrounded by quite a little 
crowd. Nearly all Souvigny was there. The ponies, 
driven through the principal streets, had made 
quite a sensation. Everybody came out and asked 
eagerly: 

“ What is the matter ? What is going on ? ” 

Some ventured the opinion: 

“ A travelling circus, perhaps.” 

But from every side came the reply: 

“You did not see, then, what it was like—the car¬ 
riage, and the harness which shown like gold, and the 
little horses with white roses on each side of their 
heads.” 

A crowd had gathered in the station-yard, and the 
curious had learned that they were to have the honor of 


104 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


being present at tlie arrival of the ladies of Longueval. 

There was a slight feeling of disappointment when 
the two sisters appeared—very pretty, but very simple, 
in their travelling costumes. 

These good people had a slight expectation of see¬ 
ing two fairy princesses, clothed in silk and brocade, 
sparkling in rubies and diamonds. 

But they stared in amazement when they saw Bet- 
tin a go slowly round the four ponies, stroking one 
after the other lightly, and examining each detail of 
the harness with a knowing air. 

It must be acknowledged that it was not disagree¬ 
able to Bettina, to produce such an effect on all this 
crowd of wondering provincials. 

Her little review over, Bettina, without too much 
haste, drew off her kid gloves, and drew on a pair of 
buck skin driving gloves, which she took from a pocket 
in the apron. 

Then she slipped, in some way, into the seat, in Ed¬ 
wards’ place; receiving from him the reins and the 
whip, with great dexterity, before the horses had time 
to be conscious that they had changed hands. Mrs. 
Scott, was seated at her sister’s side. The ponies 
stamped, pranced, and threatened to rear. 

“ Mademoiselle must be on the lookout—the ponies 
are full of life to-day,” said Edwards. 


THE A£BE CONSTANTIN. 


105 


“ Never fear,” replied Bettina,“ I understand them.” 

Miss Percival’s hand was very firm and at the same 
time very light and true. She held the ponies a few 
moments, forcing them to keep well in rank, then cov¬ 
ering the horses with a long double curve of her whip, 
she started her little equipage off at a single bound, 
with incomparable skill, and drove royally out of the 
station-yard, followed by a long murmur of astonish¬ 
ment and admiration. 

The trot of the four ponies resounded on the pave¬ 
ment of Souvigny. In going through the town she 
kept a tight rein, but as soon as she reached the open, 
level road she gave the ponies their heads and they 
went like lightning. “ Oh! how happy I am, Suzie! ” 
she cried. C£ We will trot and galop on these roads all 
by ourselves. Do you want to drive, Suzie ? It is 
such a pleasure when you can let them go like this. 
They are such goers and so gentle, take the reins—” 

“ No, keep them; it pleases me to see you so 
pleased.” 

“ Oh ! I am delighted! I like so much to drive 
four-in-hand, when there is room enough to go fast* 
In Paris, even in the morning, I did not dare,—people 
stared so, and that annoyed me. But here,—no one! 
no one ! no one! ” 

Just as Bettina, exhilarated with the fresh air, and 


106 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


freedom, cried triumphantly: “ Ho one ! no one ! no 
one ! ” a horseman appeared coming slowly towards the 
carriage. 

It was Paul de Lavardens. He had been on the 
watch for an hour, for the pleasure of seeing the 
Americans pass. 

“ You are mistaken,” said Suzie to Bettina, “ Here 
comes some one.” 

“ A peasant. A peasant does not count; he will 
not ask to marry me.” 

“ He is not a peasant at all. Look ! ” 

Paul de Lavardens, as he passed the side of the 
carriage, bowed {o the two sisters in a manner so en¬ 
tirely correct as to proclaim him, at once, a Parisian. 

The ponies were going so fast that the meeting was 
like a flash, of lightning. Bettina cried : 

“ Who is the gentlemen who just bowed to us ? ” 

“ I hardly had time to see him, but it seems to me 
that I know him.” 

“You know him ? ” 

“ Yes, and I would wager that I saw him last win¬ 
ter at my own house.” 

“ Mon Dieu ! Can he be one of the thirty-four ? ” 

“ Is it going to begin again ? ” 


On that same, day at half-past seven o clock, Jean 
went to the parsonage for the cure, and together they 
took the road to the chateau. 

For a month, an army of workmen had been in 
possession of the chateau; the village inns and wine 
shops had made a fortune. Immense freight-wagons 
had brought cargoes of furniture and upholsteries 
from Paris. Forty-eight hours before Mrs. Scott’s 
arrival, Mademoiselle Morbeau, the directress of the 
post, and Madame Lormier, the Mayor’s wife, had 
made their way into the chateau; their accounts turned 
everyone’s head. The old furniture had disappeared, 
banished to the attic ; one wandered through a perfect 
museum of marvels. And the stables ! and the coach¬ 
houses ! A special train had brought from Paris, 
under Edward’s personal supervision, twelve carriages, 
and such carriages ! Twenty horses, and such horses ! 

The Abbe Constantin thought he knew what luxury 

Once a year he dined with his bishop, Monseig- 
107 


was. 


108 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


nenr Foubert, an aimable, rich prelate, who enter¬ 
tained largely. The cure, until now, had thought 
nothing could be more sumptuous than the episcopal 
palace at Souvigny, than the chateaux of Lavardens 
and Longueval. He began to understand, after what 
he heard of the new splendors of Longueval, that the 
luxury of the fine houses of to-day wonderfully sur¬ 
passes the heavy, severe luxury of the ancient houses 
of former days. 

After the cure and Jean had gone a short distance 
on the road leading to the chateau, through the park: 

“ Look, Jean,” said the cure, “ what a change! All 
this part of the park used to be left uncared for, and 
see, now it is all gravelled and raked. I shall no 
longer feel at home here, as formerly. I shall not 
find my old maroon velvet arm-chair, in which it so 
often happened that I fell asleep after dinner. And 
if I go to sleep this evening, what will become of me ? 
You must keep watch, Jean. If you see that I am 
beginning to get sleepy, you must come behind me 
and pinch my arm a little. You promise me ? ” 

“ Yes, godfather, I promise you.” 

Jean listened only indifferently to the cure’s dis¬ 
course. He was very impatient to see Mrs. Scott 
and Miss Percival again; but his impatience was 
mingled with very great anxiety. Was he going to 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


109 


find them, in the grand saldn of Longueval, the same 
as he had seen them in the little dining-room at the 
parsonage ? Perhaps, instead of two women so per¬ 
fectly simple and easy, enjoying their improvised 
dinner, on that first day—who met him so graciously 
and affably, he was going to find two fashionable 
dolls, elegant, cold, and correct. Was his first im¬ 
pression going to be effaced, to disappear ? Or, 
would it, on the contrary, grow deeper and sweeter in 
his heart ? 

They went up the steps, and were received in the 
lobby by two tall footmen with the most dignified and 
imposing of manners. This lobby was formerly an 
immense room, cheerless and bare, in its walls of 
stone; to-day, the walls were covered with beautiful 
tapestries representing mythological subjects. The 
cure scarcely looked at the tapestries, but that was 
enough to perceive that the goddesses who were walk¬ 
ing in the fields wore costumes of antique simplicity. 

One of the footmen opened the folding doors of the 
grand salon. Here, the old marchioness was usually 
sitting, at the right of the large fire-place, and on the 
left stood the maroon arm chair. The maroon arm¬ 
chair was there no longer. The old furniture of the 
time of the Empire was replaced by furniture of 
marvellous antique tapestry, and a great many little 


110 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


chairs and little poufs of all colors and shapes, were 
placed here and there with an appearance of disorder 
which was the height of art. 

Mrs. Scott, on seeing the cure and Jean, rose, and 
going to meet them, said: 

“ How kind of you to come, Monsieur le Cure, and 
you too monsieur; and I am glad to see you again, my 
first, my only friends here ! ” 

Jean breathed again. It was just the same woman. 

“ Permit me,” added Mrs. Scott, “ to present my 
children to you—Harry, Bella,—come here.” 

Harry was a very pretty little boy of six years, and 
Bella, a very pretty little girl of five ; they had their 
mother’s large dark eyes and golden hair. 

After the cure had kissed the two children, Harry, 
who was looking admiringly at Jean’s uniform, said to 
his mother: 

“ And the soldier, shall I kiss the soldier, too, 
mamma ? ” 

“ If you like,” replied Mrs. Scott, “ and if he is 
willing.” 

The two children, were installed on Jean’s knees, in 
a few mimites, and overwhelmed him with questions. 

“ Are you an officer ? ” 

“ Yes, I am an officer.” 

“ In what ? ” 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


Ill 


u In the artillery.” 

“ The artillery. They are the ones who fire off the 
cannon. Oh ! how much I would like to be very close 
to the cannon and hear it fire.” 

“ Will you take us, some day, when they fire off 
the cannon ; say, will you ? ” 

Mrs. Scott, during this time was talking with 
the cure, and Jean, while answering the children’s 
questions, was looking at Mrs. Scott. She wore 
a dress of white muslin, hut the muslin was almost 
concealed by a mass of Valenciennes flounces. It was 
cut square in front, very low. Her arms were 
bare to the elbow, a large bunch of red roses on the 
corsage, and a red rose fastened in her hair with a 
diamond agrafe ; that was all. 

Mrs. Scott suddenly saw that Jean was going 
through a military examination by the two children: 

“ Oh ! I beg your pardon, monsieur! Harry! Bella! ” 

“ Leave them with me, I beg of you, madame.” 

“I am so sorry to keep you waiting for dinner! 
My sister has not come down yet. Ah! here she 
comes.” 

Bettina entered. The same white muslin dress, the 
same profusion of lace, the same red roses, the same 
grace, the same beauty, the same smiling, gracious, 
cordial welcome. 


112 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


“ I beg you to excuse me, Monsieur le Cure. Have 
you pardoned ine my horrible giddiness of the other 
day ? ” 

Then turning to Jean and holding out her hand. 

“ Bonjour Monsieur . . . Monsieur. Ah ! I can¬ 
not recollect your name, and yet it seems to me that 
we are old friends ? monsieur - f ” 

“ Jean Heynand.” 

“Jean Reynaud, that is it. Bonjour , monsieur 
Reyn and ! but I give you fair warning that we 
shall be such old friends, in a week, that I shall call 
you Monsieur Jean. Jean is a very pretty name.”, 

Dinner was announced. The governesses came for 
the children. Mrs. Scott took the cure’s arm; 
Bettina, Jean’s. TJntil the moment of Bettina’s ap¬ 
pearance, Jean had said to himself: “Mrs. Scott 
is the prettier! ” When he saw Bettina’s little hand 
slip into his arm, and when she turned her lovely face 
around to him he said to himself “ Miss Rercival is the 
prettier! ” But he fell back into the same perplexity 
when he was seated between the two sisters. If he 
looked to his right, it was on that side he saw himself 
threatened with falling in love ; and if he turned 
to the left the danger immediately changed places, 
and passed over to the left side. 

The conversation was animated, unreserved, and 



THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


113 


easy. Tlie two sisters were in raptures. They 
had already taken a walk in the park. They had 
promised themselves a long ride in the forest, the next 
day. To ride on horseback—that was their passion, 
their folie! And it was also Jean’s passion; so much 
so that, at the end of fifteen minutes, he had been invited 
to join them the next day and had accepted with delight. 

No one knew the vicinity better than he; it was his 
birth-place. He would be so happy to do the honors 
and show them any number of charming little places, 
which they never would discover without him. 

“ Do you ride every day ? ” asked Bettina. 

“ Every day, and sometimes twice. In the morning 
on duty, and in the evening for pleasure.” 

“ Early in the morning ? ” 

“ At half past five.” 

“ At half past five every morning ? ” 

“ Yes, except on Sunday.” 

“ Then you must rise. . . ? ” 

“ At half past four.” 

“ And is it daylight ? ” 

“ Oh ! at this season, broad daylight.” 

“ That is astonishing, to rise at half past four! 
Our day very often ends just at the hour when 
you are beginning yours. And do you like your 
profession ? ” 


114 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


“ Yery much, Mademoiselle. It is so pleasant to 
have your work lie straight before you, with all your 
duties plain, and well-defined.” 

“ Still,” said Mrs. Scott, “ not to be one’s own 
master, to be obliged always to obey! ” 

“ Perhaps that suits me best. There is nothing 
easier than to obey; and then, to learn to obey is the 
only way to learn to command.” 

“ Ah ! what you say is very true ! ” 

“Yes, no doubt,” said the cure, “but what he does 
not say, is, that he is the most distinguished officer in 
his regiment, is that ...” 

“ Godfather, I beg of you.” 

The cure, in spite of Jean’s protests, was going on 
with the panegyric of his godson, when Bettina, inter¬ 
rupted : 

“ It is needless, Monsieur le Cure, to say anything. 
We know all that you would tell us. We have had 
the curiosity to inquire about, oh! I was going to say 
Monsieur Jean, about Monsieur Reynaud. But in 
deed ! the accounts were wonderful! ” 

“ I am curious to know what they were ” said Jean. 

“ Oh ! nothing—nothing—you shall know nothing 
about them. I do not want to make you blush, and 
you would be obliged to blush. 

Then turning to the cure: 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


115 


“ And about you, too, Monsieur le Cure, we have had 
accounts of you. It seems that you are a saint.” 

“ Oh, as to that, it is quite true,” cried Jean. 

This time, it was the cure who cut short Jean’s 
eloquence. The dinner was nearly over. The old 
priest had not gone through the dinner without con¬ 
siderable trepidation. Several times he had been 
served with unknown complicated constructions, upon 
which he ventured with a trembling hand—he was 
afraid everything would tumble to pieces: quivering 
castles of jelly, pyramids of truffles, fortresses of 
cream, parapets of pastry and towers of ices. The 
Abbe Constantin dined heartily, however, and did not 
flinch before two or three glasses of champagne. He 
did not dislike good living. Perfection is not of this 
world ; and if gluttony is, as they say, a deadly sin, 
how many good priests will go to perdition ! 

The coffee was served on the terrace, in front of the 
chateau. The sound of the old village clock, striking 
nine, was heard at a distance. The woods and mead¬ 
ows slept. The outlines of the park grew indistinct 
and vague. The moon rose slowly above the tops of 
the tall trees. 

Bettina placed a box of cigars on the table. 

“ Do you smoke?” said she to Jean. 

“ Yes, mademoiselle.” 


116 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


“ Take one then, monsieur Jean, there I have said 
it. Take, but no; listen.” 

And speaking in a low tone, as she offered him the 
cigars: 

“ It is dark now, you can blush at your ease. I am 
going to tell you, what I would not tell you at the 
table just now. The old notary at Souvigny, who was 
your guardian, came to see my sister about the pay¬ 
ments for the chateau. He told us what you did after 
your fathers’ death,, what you did for that poor 
mother, and that young girl. We were very much 
touched by it, my sister and I.” 

“ Yes, monsieur,” continued Mrs. Scott, “ and 
that is the reason we have received you to-day with so 
much pleasure. We would not have given every one 
such a welcome, you may rest assured. Now take 
your cigar. My sister is waiting.” 

Jean could not find a word to reply. Bettina was 
there, in front of him, with the box of cigars in both 
hands, and her eyes fixed full on Jean’s face. She 
was enjoying that very genuine, very keen delight 
which may be expressed in this phrase : 

“ It seems to me that I am looking at an honest 
young man.” “ And now,” said Mrs. Scott, “let 
us sit down and enjoy this lovely night. Take your 
coffee and smoke.” 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


117 


“And we will not talk, Suzie, we will not talk. 
This grand stillness of the country is adorable after 
the uproar of Paris. Let us be still, without speak¬ 
ing. Let us look at the sky, and the moon, and the 
stars.” 

So alf four began to carry out the little programme 
with great enjoyment. Suzie and Bettina, cpiiet, rest¬ 
ing, absolutely separated from their life of the day be¬ 
fore, and already feeling an affection for this country 
which had just received them and was going to keep 
them. 

Jean was less calm; Miss Percival’s words had 
moved him deeply; his heart had not yet resumed its 
regular beating. 

But, happiest of all, was the Abbe Constantin. He 
had thoroughly enjoyed the little episode which had 
put Jean’s modesty to such a severe, yet such a pleas¬ 
ant, test. The abbe loved his godson so dearly. The 
tenderest of fathers never loved more fondly his dear¬ 
est child. When the old cure looked at the young of¬ 
ficer, he often said to himself: 

“ Heaven has blessed me! I am a priest, and yet I 
have a son ! ” 

The abbe was lost in a very delightful reverie; he 
found himself at home again, more at home than he 
ever imagined could again be the case; his ideas grad- 


118 


THE ABB£ CONSTANTIN. 


nally became confused and entangled. Reverie be¬ 
came drowsiness, drowsiness became sleep ; the disaster 
was soon complete, irreparable. The cure was asleep, 
sound asleep. The extraordinary dinner and the two 
or three glasses of champagne had, perhaps, something 
to do with the catastrophe. 

Jean had not observed anything. He had forgotten 
his promise to his godfather. And, why had he for¬ 
gotten it. Because Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival 
had chosen to put their feet on the foot-stools in front 
of their big willow chairs, lined with cushions. Then 
they leaned back, lazily in their chairs, and their mus¬ 
lin skirts were raised a little, a very little, but still suf¬ 
ficiently to disclose four little feet, whose outlines ap¬ 
peared very clear and distinct in the moonlight, under 
the two pretty billows of white lace. Jean looked at 
the little feet and asked himself this question: 

“ Which are the smaller ? ” 

While he was trying to solve the problem, Bettina 
suddenly said to him in a low tone: 

“ Monsieur Jean! Monsieur Jean ! ” 

“ Mademoiselle ? ” 

“ Look at Monsieur le Cure, he has gone to sleep.” 

“ Oh, mon dieu! it is my fault.” 

“ What! Your fault ? ” asked Mrs. Scott in the 
same low tone. 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


119 


“ Yes, my godfather rises early in the morning, and 
goes to bed very early; he charged me not to let him 
go to sleep. Very often, after dining with Madame 
Longueval, he took a nap; and you have given him 
such a charming welcome, that he has gone back to 
his old habits.” 

“ And he is quite right—” said Bettina; “ do not 
make a noise, we will not waken him.” 

“ You are so kind, mademoiselle, but the evening is 
growing a little cool.” 

“Ah! that is true. He may take cold. Wait, I 
will go and fetch a wrap.” 

“ I think, mademoiselle, that it would be better to 
try and waken him, so adroitly that he will not sus¬ 
pect that you have seen him asleep.” 

“ Leave it to me ” said Bettina. “ Suzie, let us sing 
together, very low at first, and then gradually raise 
our voices. Let us sing.” 

“ Willingly, but what shall we sing ? ” 

“ Something childish. The words are of no con¬ 
sequence.” 

Suzie and Bettina began to sing: 

“ If I liad but two little wings ” 

“ And were a little feathery bird,” etc. 

Their voices fell, exquisitely sweet and clear, on the 

deep silence. 


120 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


The abbe heard nothing, he did not stir. Charmed 
with the little concert, Jean said to himself : 

“ It is to be hoped that my godfather will not wake 
np too soon ! ” 

The voices rose clearer and louder : 

“But in my sleep to you I fly;” 

“ I’m always with you in my sleep!” etc. 

And still the abbe did not yield. 

“ How he sleeps,” said Suzie, “ it is a sin to waken 
him.” 

“ But we must! Louder, Suzie, still louder! ” 

The full harmony of their voices now burst forth 
unrestrained: 

“ Sleep stays not through a monarch bids” 

“ So I love to wake ere break of day,” etc. 

The cure awoke with a start. After a short mo¬ 
ment of alarm, he breathed free. Evidently no 
one had noticed that he had been asleep. Very care¬ 
fully and slowly he drew himself up straight again. 
He was saved! 

A quarter of an hour afterwards, the tw r o sisters, 
accompanied the cure and Jean to a little park gate, 
which opened into the village, not far from the par¬ 
sonage. As they approached the gate Bettina sud¬ 
denly said to J ean: 

“ Ah ! monsieur, for three hours I have had a ques- 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


121 


tion to ask you. This morning, on our arrival, we 
met on the road a slender young man, with a blond 
moustache; he was riding a black horse; he bowed to 
us as we met.” 

“ It is Paul de Lavardens, one of my friends. He 
has already had the honor of being presented to you— 
but quite casually. So he has a great desire to be pre¬ 
sented again.^^J^^ 

“ Ah! well! you can bring him some day,” said 
Mrs. Scott. 

“ Not before the 25th,” cried Bettina, “ not before ! 
not before ! Until then we do not wish to see anyone, 
except you, Monsieur Jean. But you—it is very 
strange, and I do not know why it is—you are no 
longer anyone , for us. The compliment is not very 
well turned, perhaps; but do not make a mistake, 
it is a compliment just the same. It is my intention, 
in saying it, to be exceedingly agreeable to you.” 

“ And so you are, mademoiselle.” 

“So much more if I could make myself understood. 
An revoir , Monsieur Jean , et a demainA 

Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival went slowly back 
to the chateau: 

“ And, now, Suzie,” said Bettina, “ scold me, scold 
me well; I expect it; I deserve it.” 

“ Scold you! For what ? ” 


122 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


u I am sure you are going to say that I was too free 
with that young man.” 

“No, I shall not tell you so. That young man 
has impressed me very favorably, from the first. He 
inspires me with perfect confidence.” 

“ And me, too.” 

“ I am convinced that it will be well for us both to 
make him our friend.” 

“ With all my heart, so far as I am concerned. 
And all the more, Suzie, that I have seen so many 
young men since we came to France; oh, yes, I 
have seen so many; and this is the first, positively 
the first, in whose eyes I have not clearly read 
this sentence: c Mon Dieu! How glad I would 
be to marry the millions of this little person! ’ It 
was distinctly written in the eyes of all the others, 
but not in his eyes. And now let us go in. Good¬ 
night, Suzie.” 

Mrs. Scott went to see her children, and kiss them 
^n their sleep. 

Bettina stood a long time, leaning on her elbow on 
the balcony. 

“ It seems to me,” she said to herself: “ that I am 
going to like the country.” 


VII. 

The next morning, on returning from drill, Jean 
found Paul de Lavardens awaiting him at the bar¬ 
racks. He hardly gave him time to dismount—and as 
soon as they were alone: 

u Tell me,” said he, “ tell me, quickly, all about 
your dinner yesterday. I saw them myself in the 
morning. The little one was driving the four black 
ponies, at such a rate ! I bowed to them—did you 
speak of me ? Did they recognize me ? When are 
you going to take me to Longueval \ Answer, 
answer me! ” 

“Answer ! answer ! which question first ? ” 

“ The last one.” 

“ When will I take you to Longueval ? ” 

« Yes.” 

“ In about ten days. They do not care to see any 
one, just yet.” 

“ But are you not going to Longueval again before 
ten days ? ” 


123 


124 


THE ABBfi CONSTANTIN. 


“ Oh ! I, I am going again to-day, at four o’clock. 
But I do not count. Jean Reynaud, the cure’s god¬ 
son ! That is the way that I have so easily gained the 
confidence of these two charming women. I am in¬ 
troduced under the patronage and indorsement of the 
Church—and then, it has been discovered that I can 
be of service; I know the country well; they are 
going to make me useful, as a guide. In short, I am 
a nobody ; while you, Count Paul de Lavardens—you 
are a somebody. So, do not fear, your turn will come 
with the fetes and balls, when it is necessary to be 
brilliant, and know how to dance. You will shine 
then in all your glory, and I shall go back, very 
humbly, to my obscurity.” 

“ You may laugh at me as much as you please. It 
is none the less true, that, during these ten days, you 
will get the start—the start! ” 

“ How, the start ? ” 

“ Look here, Jean, are you trying to make me be¬ 
lieve that you are not already in love with one of 
those women ? Is it probable ? So much beauty ! so 
much wealth! the wealth perhaps, even more than the 
beauty! Such luxury as that upsets me, unsettles 
me f I dreamed all night of those four black ponies, 
with their white roses, four cockades—and this little— 
Bettina—is it not ? ” 


THK ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


125 


“ Yes, Bettina.” 

“ Bettina ! Countess Bettina de Lavardens ! Isn’t 
that rather pretty ? And what a perfect little hus¬ 
band she will have in me ! My vocation is, to he the 
husband of a woman absurdly rich. It is not so easy 
as you might suppose. You must know how to be 
rich, and I should have that talent. I have proved it; 
I have already squandered a good deal of money, and 
if mamma had not stopped me —! But I am all 
ready to begin again. Ah ! how ha ppy she would be 
with me ! I would make her life like that of a fairy 
princess. In all her luxury she would be conscious of 
the taste, the art, the skill of her husband. I would 
spend my life in dressing her, advancing her, in mak¬ 
ing her famous in the world. I would study her 
beauty, so that it should have the frame that suited it. 
£ If it were not for him,’ she would say to herself, 
C I would not be so pretty.’ I would know, not only 
how to love her, but how to amuse her. She would 
have the worth of her money, both in love and in 
pleasure. Come, Jean, take me to Mrs. Scott’s to-day; 
it would be a good move. 

“ I cannot, I assure you.” 

“ Oh! well, only ten days more, and then, I warn 
you, that I shall establish myself there, and I will not 
budge. In the first jfiace, it will please mamma. She 


126 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


is, still, a little prejudiced against these Americans; 
she says that she will manage not to meet them, but 
I understand her ! When I come home some evening 
and say to her, ‘ Mamma, I have /won the heart of a 
charming little person who is afflicted with a capital 
of twenty millions, and an income of two or three 
millions.’ They exaggerate when they talk about 
hundreds of millions. That evening, mamma will be 
delighted—because, what is it, that, in her heart, she 
desires forme? Just what all good mothers desire 
for their sons, especially if their sons have committed 
follies; either a rich marriage, or a discreet liason. I 
find both at Longueval—and I can easily adapt my¬ 
self to either one or the other. Only, be so good as 
to let me know within ten days which of the two you 
give up ; Mrs. Scott or Miss Percival.” 

“ You are crazy. I do not think—I never thought.” 

“ Listen, Jean, you may be virtue and wisdom com¬ 
bined ; but, say what you may, and do as you will— 
Listen—and remember what I tell you. Jean, you 
will fall in love, in that house ” 

“ I do not believe it,” cried Jean, laughing. 

“ I am sure of it. Au revoir ! I leave you now to 
your duties.” 

Jean was perfectly sincere. He had slept well the 
night before. His second interview with the two sis- 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


127 


ters had, as by magic, dispelled the slight inquietude 
which had disturbed him after the first meeting. 
There was too much money in that house for a poor 
fellow like him to find a place there, honorably. 

Friendship, was a different thing. He desired with 
all his heart, and he would try with all his strength, to 
gain the esteem and regard of these two women. 
He would try not to see how beautiful Suzie and 
Bettina were; he would try not to forget himself 
again, as he did the night before, in looking at 
the four little feet on the footstools. They had 
said to him frankly, cordially, “ You will be our 
friend.” 

That was all that he desired ! To be their friend! 
And that he would be! 

During the following ten days everything conspired 
for the success of this attempt. Suzie, Bettina, the 
Abbe and Jean lived in the closest and most confiden¬ 
tial intimacy. In the mornings, the two sisters took 
long drives with the cure; and in the afternoon, long 
rides on horseback, with Jean. 

Jean no longer tried to analyse his feelings ; he no 
longer asked himself, whether he leaned to the right 
or to the left. He felt the same devotion, the same 
affection, for both of these women. He was perfectly 
happy, perfectly contented. Then he could not be in 


[28 


THE ABBE CONS J’ANTIN. 


love, for love and contentment rarely dwell harmoni¬ 
ously in the same heart. 

It was, however, with a little uneasiness and regret, 
that Jean saw the day approach, w T hich would bring 
to Longueval, the Turners, the Nortons, and the 
whole tide of the American colony. The day came 
very quickly. 

On Wednesday, the 24th of June, at four o’clock, 
Jean went to the chateau. Bettina received him, 
quite out of humor. 

“ Such a disappointment,” said she, “ my sister is 
not well. A slight head-ache—nothing serious. It 
will he all gone to-morrow; but I dare not go to ride 
with you, all alone. In America, I could; but not 
here, could I ? ” 

“ Certainly not,” replied Jean. 

“So I must send you away, and that makes me so 
sorry.” 

“ And I, too, am sorry to go; and to lose this last 
day, which I had hoped to spend with you. However, 
since it must be ! I will come to-morrow to inquire 
for your sister.” 

“ She will see you herself, then ; I assure you it is 
nothing serious. Will you grant me a few minutes 
conversation ? I have something to say to you. Sit 
down and listen to me, now. My sister and I intended 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


129 


to get you into a corner of the salon after dinner, 
and she would have told you what I will now try to say 
for us both. Only I am a little nervous—do not laugh. 
It is very serious. We both want to thank you for 
having been so kind, so good, so attentive, ever since 
we arrived.” 

u Oh! mademoiselle. I beg of you—It is I . . 

“ Oh ! do not interrupt me. You put me all out. 
I do not know how to go on. I insist, however, that 
it is for us to thank you—not you, us. We came 
here, two strangers. We were so fortunate as to find 
friends, immediately—yes, friends. You took us by 
the hand. You went with us to see the farmers, and 
the keepers, and your godfather took us to see the 
poor—and everywhere that we went, they loved you 
so much, that they immediately began to like us a 
little on your account. They worship you here, do you 
know it ? ” 

“ I was born here—all these good people have 
known me from my childhood, and are grateful to 
me for all that my grandfather and my father did 
for them. And then, I belong to their race—the 
race of peasants. My great grandfather was a 
farmer at Bargecourt, a village two leagues from 
here.” 

“ Oh ! oh ! you seem to be very proud of it! ” 


130 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


“ Neither proud, nor ashamed.” 

“I beg pardon. I thought you seemed a little 
proud 1 Well, then, I can reply to that; that my 
mother’s great-grandfather was a farmer in Bretagne. 
He went to Canada toward the close of the last cen¬ 
tury, when Canada still belonged to France. And 
do you like this country very much, where you were 
born ? ” 

“ Yery much ; but I shall soon, perhaps, be obliged 
to leave it.” 

“ Why ? ” 

“ When I am promoted I shall be changed into an¬ 
other regiment, and then I must go from post to 
post. But when I get to be an old, retired general 
or colonel, I shall certainly come back to live and die 
here in my father’s little house.” 

“And always alone? ” 

“ Why, alone ? Indeed, I hope not.” 

“You mean to marry ? ” 

“ Yes, certainly.” 

“And you are endeavoring to marry ? ” 

“ No. One may think about marrying, but one must 
not seek to marry.” 

“ But there are people who do seek to marry, and 
some of them have wished to marry you.” 

“ How do you know that ? ” 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


131 


“ Oh, I know very well all about your little affairs. 
You are what is called, a good match ; and I repeat it, 
some have wished to marry you.” 

“ Who told you so ? ” 

“ Monsieur le Cure.” 

“ My godfather did wrong,” said Jean, with consid¬ 
erable spirit. 

“No, no, he did not do wrong; if any one was to 
blame it was I, and to blame through kindness and 
not from curiosity, I assure you. I discovered that 
your godfather was never so happy as when he was 
speaking of you. During our walks in the morn¬ 
ing, when alone with him, in order to please him, 
I mention you, and he tells me all about your life. 
You are rich—you are quite rich. You receive two 
hundred and thirteen francs and some centimes a 
month from the Government. Isn’t that so ? ” 

“ Yes,” replied Jean, deciding to take his share of 
the cure’s indiscretions with a good grace. 

“ You have an income of eight thousand francs.” 

“Almost, not quite.” 

“Added to that, your house, which is worth about 
thirty thousand francs. In short, you are in excellent 
circumstances^ and already your hand has been asked 
for.” 

“ My hand asked for ? No! no ! ” 


132 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN 


“ Yes, indeed ! .Yes, indeed ! Twice—and you 
have refused two very fine marriages—two very fine 
dots —if you prefer. It is all the same thing to so 
many people. Two hundred thousand francs on one 
side, three hundred thousand on the other. That is 
considered an immense sum here, and you have refused 
it. Tell me why ? If you only knew how curious I 
am to know! ” 

“Ah, well! It was in relation to two very charm¬ 
ing young girls-” 

“ That is understood ; they always say that.” 

“ But whom I hardly knew. I was compelled—for 
I resisted—I was compelled to spend two or three 
evenings with them last winter.” 

“And then ? ” 

“ Then—I do not know very well how to explain 
to you. I had only a feeling of embarrassment, of 
uneasiness, of dullness, of weariness-” 

“ In short,” said Bettina, boldly, “ not the slightest 
suspicion of love.”. 

“ H o, not the least; and I very wisely went back to 
my bachelor quarters, for I think it is better not to 
marry at all than to marry without love. That is my 
opinion.” 

“And it is mine, also.” 

She looked at him. lie looked at her. And all at 




THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


133 


once, to the great surprise of both, they found nothing 
more to say—nothing at all. 

Fortunately, at this moment, Harry and Bella came 
rushing into the salon with cries of delight. 

“ Monsieur Jean! Monsieur Jean ! Are you there, 
Monsieur Jean ? Come and see our ponies.” 

u Ah ! ” said Bettina, her voice a little unsteady. 
“ Edwards has just returned from Baris, and has 
brought some mites of ponies for the children. Let 
us go and see them ? ” 

They went out to see the ponies, which were, in¬ 
deed, worthy of figuring in the stables of the King of 
Lilliput. 


VIII. 


Three weeks have passed. Jean is to leave with 
his regiment the next day for the camp of Cercottes, 
in the forest d’Orleans; they will be ten days on the 
march in going and coming, and ten days in camp. 
The regiment is to return to Souvigny on the 10th of 
August. 

Jean is no longer calm; Jean is no longer happy. 
He sees the moment of departure come, with impa¬ 
tience, and, at the same time, with dread. With im¬ 
patience, for he is suffering martyrdom; he is in haste 
to escape it. With dread, for during these twenty 
days, what will become of him without seeing her, 
without speaking to her, in short, without her ? Her, 
that is Bettina! He loves her ! 

Since when ? Since the first day, since +liat meeting 
in the cure’s garden, in the month of May! That was 
the truth! But Jean struggled and argued with him¬ 
self against this truth. He thought he had loved Bet¬ 
tina only since that day when they, two, had such a 

134 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


135 


pleasant friendly talk in the little salon. She was sit¬ 
ting on the blue divan, near the window, and while 
she chatted, she amused herself in smoothing out the 
rumpled toilette of a Japanese princess, one of Bella’s 
dolls, which was lying on a chair, and which Bettina 
had picked up mechanically. 

How did Miss Percival happen to speak to him of 
those two young girls whom he might have married. 
And yet, the question did not displease him. He had 
replied, that if he did not then feel any inclination to 
marry, it was because the interviews with these young 
girls had caused him no emotion, no agitation. He 
had smiled as he said this; but in a few minutes after¬ 
wards he smiled no longer. He had suddenly learn¬ 
ed the meaning of these emotions and agitations. 
Jean did not deceive himself; he was fully aware of 
the extent of his wound;—it had struck at his heart. 

Jean, however, did not despair. That very day as 
he went away he said to himself: “ Yes, it is severe, 
very severe, but I shall recover from it.” He sought 
an excuse for his madness, and he found it in circum¬ 
stances. This lovely girl had been with him too much 
during the last ten days, too much alone with him! 
How could he resist such a temptation ? He was fas¬ 
cinated with her charms, her grace, her beauty. But 
the next day, twenty people were expected at the 


136 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


chateau, and that would be the end of this dangerous 
intimacy, He would have the courage to stay away, 
to lose himself in the crowd; he would not see Bettina 
so often and so informally. Hot to see her at all, 
that he could not think of! lie would be Bettina’s 
friend, since he must be only her friend. For any 
other thought never even entered Jean’s mind; that 
thought would not only have seemed preposterous to 
him, it would have been monstrous. There was not a 
more honorable man than Jean in the world; and Bet¬ 
tina’s money was a horror to him, a positive horror. 

A crowd of people did indeed invade Longueval on 
the 25th of June. Mrs. Norton came with her son 
Daniel, and Mrs. Turner with her son Philip. Young 
Daniel and young Philip, were both of them members 
of the famous brotherhood of Thirty-Four. They 
were old friends; Bettina had treated them as such, 
and had told them frankly that they were absolutely 
wasting their time; they were not discouraged, how¬ 
ever, and formed the centre of a very anxious, assidu¬ 
ous court which surrounded Bettina. 

Paul de Lavardens had made his appearance on the 
scene, and had rapidly become a favorite with every 
one. He had received the brilliant and comprehen¬ 
sive education of a young man who devotes himself to 
pleasure. Was it a question, what they should do to 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


137 


amuse themselves ? Hiding, croquet, lawn-tennis, polo, 
dancing, charades and theatricals, he was ready for 
all, he excelled in all. His superiority was startling, 
impressive. By general consent, Paul became the or¬ 
ganizer and leader of all th v fetes at Longueval. 

Bettina was not deceived for a moment; Jean pre¬ 
sented Paul de Lavardens to her, and he had hardly 
gone through the necessary formalities, before Bettina 
leaning over to Suzie, whispered in her ear: 

“ The thirty-fifth ! ” 

However, she accorded Paul a gracious welcome, so 
gracious that for several days lie was foolish enough 
to misinterpret it. He thought that His own personal 
attractions had won for him such a pleasant, cordial 
reception. It was a great mistake. He had been pre 
sented by Jean; he was Jean’s friend; in Bettina’s eyes 

-n 

all his merit lay in that. 

Mrs. Scott’s chateau was open house ; her invitations 
were not for one evening, but for every evening, and 
Paul eagerly accepted every evening. His dream was 
realized. He had found Paris again at Longueval! 

But Paul was neither a fool nor a coxcomb. With¬ 
out doubt, Miss Percival made him the object of par¬ 
ticular attention and favors. She was pleased to have 
long, very long, conversations with him, all alone 
But what was the continual, the inexhaustable subject 


138 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


of these conversations ? Jean, Jean, always Jean! and 
Paul was flippant, giddy and frivolous, hut lie became 
serious as soon as Jean was mentioned; he knew how 
to appreciate him, how to love him. 

Nothing w T as easier for him, nothing was sweeter to 
him than to praise the friend of his boyhood. And as 
he saw that Bettina listened to him with pleasure, 
Paul gave free rein to his eloquence. 

But Paul—and it was his privilege—desired one 
evening to have the benefit of his chivalrous conduct. 
He had been talking with Bettina for a quarter of an 
hour; the conversation ended, he went to find Jean at 
the other end of the salon, and said to him: 

“ You left the field free to me, and I have thrown 
myself boldly at Miss Percival.” 

“Well! you have no reason to be dissatisfied 
with the result of your undertaking. You seem to be 
the best friends in the world.” 

“ Yes, certainly we are friends. I can go that far, 
but no farther. Nothing can be more agreeable, more 
charming than Miss Percival; but, at least, I deserve 
some credit for acknowledging it—for, between us, she 
makes me play a distasteful and ridiculous rCle, a role 
which does not belong to one of my age. At my age 
one is a lover, not a confidant.” 

“ A confidant ? ” 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


139 


“ Yes, my dear fellow, a confidant! That is the 
position they have given me in this house! You saw 
us just now; well, do you know what we were talking 
about ? Of you, my dear fellow, nothing but you ! and 
it is the same every evening. There is no end to the 
questions: You were brought up together ? You both 
studied with the Abbe Constantin ? He would soon be 
a captain ? And after that ?—commandant ?—and after 
that ?—colonel, et cetera . . . et cetera . . . Ah! 
Jean, my friend Jean. What a beautiful dream you 
might have, if you only would.” 

Jean was angry, almost in a passion. Paul was 
very much astonished at this sudden burst of anger. 

“ What is the matter with you ? It seems to me 
that I have said nothing.” 

“ I beg your pardon. I was wrong ; but how could 
such an absurd idea enter your head ? ” 

“ Absurd ? I do not think it absurd. I have had the 
same idea myself.” 

u Ah ! You—” 

u Why, c ah ! me ? ’ If I have had it, you can nave 
it; you are better than I.” 

“ Paul, I beg of you ! ” 

Jean’s distress was evident. 

“ We will say no more about it; what I want to say, 
in brief, is, that Miss Percival finds me agreeable, very 


140 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


agreeable; but as for thinking seriously of me, such 
an idea never entered her head. Now I am going to 
turn my attention to Mrs. Scott, without much confi¬ 
dence, however. Look here, Jean, I may amuse my¬ 
self in this house; but I shall never make my fortune 
here.” 

Paul now devoted himself to Mrs. Scott; but the 
very next day he was surprised to encounter Jean? 
who began to take a place very regularly in Mrs. 
Scott’s special circle—for she, like Bettina, had her 
own little court. Jean tried to find there, protection 
and a place of safety. 

The day of their memorable conversation about 
marriages without love, Bettina, for the first time had 
felt suddenly awaken in her that need of love, which 
sleeps, but not very profoundly, in the hearts of all 
young girls. The same sensation had come at the 
same moment in the soul of Jean and in the soul of 
Bettina. He,' alarmed, thrust it rudely away from 
him. She, on the contrary, gave herself up, in all the 
freshness of her perfect innocence, to this new tender¬ 
ness and emotion. 

She was waiting for love, what if this were love ! 
What if the man who could be her thought, her life, 
her soul, should be, he, Jean ! Why, not ? She knew 
him better than all those who for a year past had 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


141 


fluttered around her fortune, and in all that she knew 
of him there was nothing to discourage the confidence 
and love of a pure young girl. 

Both, in fact, were right; both were influenced by 
duty, and by truth : she, in yielding ; he, in resisting. 
She, in not thinking for a moment of Jean’s obscurity 
and poverty; he, in recoiling from this mountain of 
millions as he would have recoiled from a crime. She, 
in thinking that she had no right to parley with love; 
he, in thinking that he had no right to parley with 
honor. 

For these reasons, Bettina grew more tender and 
surrendered herself more completely to love’s first ap¬ 
peal ; while Jean became more gloomy and troubled 
from day to day. He was not only afraid of loving, 
he was afraid of being loved. 

He should have stayed away; he had tried, but he 
could not. The temptation was too strong. He con¬ 
tinued his visits; and she would come to meet him, 
with extended hands, a smile upon her lips, and her 
heart in her eyes. Everything about her said : “ Let 
us try to love each other, and if we can, let us love ! ’ 



Fear seized him. He hardly dared touch these 
hands which were stretched out to meet his. He tried 
to avoid those tender, smiling, questioning glances 
which sought his own. He trembled at the necessity 


142 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


of talking with Bettina, of listening to her. It was 
then that Jean took refuge near Mrs. Scott; and it 
was then that Mrs. Scott listened to those hesitating, 
troubled words which were not addressed to her, but 
which, however, she took to herself. 

As yet, there was nothing to prevent Suzie’s mis¬ 
take. Bettina had not spoken to her of these vague 
emotions which filled her soul. She guarded and 
caressed the secret of her dawning love, as a miser 
guards and caresses his first accumulations. The day 
when she could see clearly into her own heart, the day 
when she could be sure that she loved ; all! how she 
would talk on that day, and how happy she would be 
in telling Suzie all. 

Mrs. Scott had ended by attributing to herself the 
honor of Jean’s melancholy, which day by day became 
more marked. She was flattered by it,—it never dis¬ 
pleases a woman to think herself beloved—but, she 
was grieved at the same time. She had a great esteenc 
and regard for Jean; it pained her to think that he 
was sad and unhappy on her account. 

Suzie, besides, had the consciousness of innoeence. 
Sometimes she was, with others, a coquette. It wa£ 
no great sin to torment them a little. These others 
had nothing to do, they were good for nothing else; 
it occupied, while it amused them ; it helped them pass 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


143 


the time, and her, too. But Suzie could not reproach 
herself with having been coquettish with Jean. She 
was conscious of his merit and of his superiority ; he 
was different from the rest; lie was a man to suffer 
seriously, and that Mrs. Scott did not desire. Two or 
three times she had been on the point of speaking to 
him, very gently, and affectionately, but she had re¬ 
flected that Jean was going away for a number of 
days; on his return, if it was necessary, she would 
convince him by her manner, that love must not come 
to interfere with their friendship. 

Jean was going the next day. Bettina had insisted 
that he should spend this last day at Longueval, and 
dine at the chateau. Jean had refused, alleging the 
preparations he must make before his departure. He 
came, on foot, about half-past ten in the evening. 
Several times on the way he had almost determined to 
go back. 

“ If I had the courage,” he said to himself, “ I would 
not see her again. I leave to-morrow, and I will not 
return to Souvigny while she is here. My resolution 
is firmly fixed.” 

But he went on; he wanted to see her again, for 
the last time. 

As soon as he had entered the saldn, Bettina came 
running, to meet him: 


144 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


“ Yon are come at last! How late you are !” 

“ I have been very busy.” 

“ And you are going to-morrow ? ” 

“ Yes, to-morrow.” 

“ Early?” 

“ At five o’clock.” 

“ Shall you take the road past the park, and through 
the village ? ” 

“ Yes, that is just the route we are to take.” 

“ Why do you go so early in the morning ? I would 
have gone to the top of the terrace to see you pass, 
and bid you adieu.” 

Bettina had taken Jean’s burning hand and kept it 
in hers. He drew it away, sadly. 

“ I must go,” said he, “ and speak to your sister.” 

“ Presently! she has not seen you—there are a 
dozen persons round her. Come, sit here a little while 
with me.” 

He was obliged to sit down at her side. 

“ We, too, are going away,” she said. 

“You?” 

“Yes, we received a dispatch, an hour ago, from my 
brother-in-law, which gave us great delight. He did 
not expect to return for a month; he will be here in 
twelve days; he will sail from Hew York, on the 
Labrador, day after to-morrow. We shall go to meet 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


145 


him at Havre. We will take the children and start 
day after to-morrow. It will do them good to be at 
the sea-shore a few days. How glad my brother-in- 
law will be to know yon. But he knows you already, 
for we have spoken of you in all our letters. I am 
sure that you will like each other. He is so good. 
How long shall you be gone ? ” 

“ Twenty days.” 

“ Twenty days, in a camp.” 

“ Yes, mademoiselle, the camp of Cercottes.” 

“ In the forest d’Orleans, I found that out from 
your godfather this morning. I am very glad to go 
to meet my brother-in-law, but, at the same time I am 
sorry to be away from here; only for that I should 
have paid a visit to your godfather every morning. 
He would have given me news of you. Will you, in a 
few days write my sister a little bit of a letter, if it 
is only four lines—that will not take you long—just 
to tell her how you are, and that you have not forgot¬ 
ten us ? ” 

“ Oh ! I can never forget you, your kindness, your 
goodness, never ! mademoiselle, never ! ” 

His voice trembled. He was afraid of betraying 
his emotion. He rose : 

“ Mademoiselle, I must go and speak to your sister. 
She sees me, she will think it strange.” 


146 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


He crossed the salon. Bettina looked after him. 
Mrs. Norton had just seated herself at the piano to 
play a waltz for the young people. Paul de Lavardens 
came up to Miss Percival: 

“ Will you do me the honor, mademoiselle? ” 

“ Thank you. I believe I have just promised Mon¬ 
sieur Jean,” replied she. 

“ But if you have not promised him, you will dance 
with me.” 

“Oh! yes.” 

Bettina went across the room to Jean who had just 
sat down by Mrs. Scott. 

“I have told a story;” said she to him. “M. de 
Lavardens asked me for this waltz, and I told him I 
had promised you. Y ou will say yes, will you not ? 
You do not object.” 

To hold her in his arms, to breathe the perfume of 
her hair! Jean’s strength deserted him. He dared 
not accept. 

“ I am very sorry, mademoiselle. I cannot—I am 
ill this evening. I came only to make my adieu before 
my departure—but it would be impossible for me to 
dance.” 

Mrs. Norton struck up the prelude to the waltz. 

“Well! mademoiselle,” said Paul coming up gaily, 
“ Is it his waltz @r mine \ ” 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


147 


“Yours,” said slie, sadly, still looking at Jean. 

She was so troubled that she answered without really 
knowing what she said. She immediately regretted 
that she had accepted. She would rather have stayed 
there, near him. But it was too late. Paul took her 
.hand and led her away. Jean rose, and looked after 
Bettina and Paul; a cloud passed before his eyes, he 
suffered cruelly. 

“ The only thing for me to do,” said he to himself, 
“ is to take advantage of this waltz and go away. To¬ 
morrow morning I will write a few lines to Mrs. Scott, 
and make my excuses.” 

lie reached the door. He did not look at Bettina 
again. If he had, he would have stayed. But Bettina 
saw him, and suddenly said to Paul: 

“ Thank you very much monsieur, but I am a little 
tired. Let us stop, if you please. Excuse me.” 

Paul offered her his arm. 

“ No, thank you,” said she. 

The door had just closed. Jean had gone. Bettina 
hastily crossed the salon, leaving Paul standing alone, 
very much astonished, and at a loss to understand 
what was passing. 

Jean was already on the porch, when he heard some 
one call: 

“ Monsieur Jean ! Monsieur Jean ! ” 


148 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


He stopped and turned around. She was there at 
his side. 

“ You are going away, without saying good-bye to 
me?” 

“ Pardon me, I am very tired.” 

“ Then, you must not walk home. It looks like a 
storm.” 

She held out her hand. 

“ Why! It is raining now.” 

“ Oh, only a little.” 

“ Come and take a cup of tea with me in the little 
salon, and I will send you home in a carriage.” 

And turning to one of the footmen: 

“ Tell them to have a coupe ready immediately.” 

“ Ho, mademoiselle, I beg of you. The fresh air is 
good for me. I shall feel better if I walk. Let me go.” 

“ Very well, then! But you have no overcoat. You 
must take one.” 

“ I shall not feel the cold; but you, in that thin 
dress. I must go, so that you will go in.” 

Without even taking her hand, he escaped and ran 
rapidly down the steps. 

“ If I touch her hand,” said he to himself, “ I am 
lost. My secret will escape me.” 

Ilis secret! He did not know that Bettina read his 
heart like an open book. 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


149 


When Jean reached the bottom of the steps, he 
hesitated for an instant. These words were on his 
lips: 

“ I love you ! I adore you ! And that is why, I must 
see you no more ! ” 

But he must not utter them, he must fly; and in a 
few moments he was lost in the darkness. 

Bettina stood there on the door steps, framed in the 
light which streamed through the open door. Big 
drops of rain, driven by the wind, fell on her bare 
shoulders, and made her shiver; but she did not 
heed them; she only heard the beating of her 
heart. 

“I knew very well that he loved me,” she said 
to herself, “ but now I am very sure that I too—oh! 
yes, I too—” 

Turning suddenly, the reflection, in one of the large 
mirrors in the hall, of the two tall footmen standing, 
motionless, near the oaken table, recalled her to her¬ 
self. Bettina took a few steps in the direction of the 
salon, she heard the laughter and the waltz still going 
on. She stopped. She wanted to be alone, all alone, 
and turning to one of the servants: 

“ Go,” said she, “ and tell Madame that I am very 
much fatigued; I am going to my room.” 

Annie, her maid, was sleeping in an arm chair. 


150 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


She sent her away. She threw herself down upon the 
sofa. A sweet sadness oppressed her. 

The door opened, and Mrs. Scott entered. 

“ Are yon ill, Bettina? ” 

“ Ah! Snzie, it is you, my Suzie ! How glad I am 
that you have come! Sit down by me, close to me.” 
She threw herself into her sister’s arms, like a child, 
pressing her burning cheeks to Suzie’s cool shoulder, 
then, suddenly, she burst into a flood of tears. 

“ Bettina ! my darling, what is the matter ? ” 

“ Nothing, nothing, I am nervous; it is for joy.” 

“ For joy ? ” 

“ Yes, yes, w T ait; but let me cry a little, it will do 
me good ! Do not be frightened ! ” 

Suzie’s kisses calmed and soothed her. 

“ It is over now, and I am going to tell you. I 
want to talk to you about Jean.” 

“ Jean! Do you call him Jean ? ” 

“ Yes, I call him Jean. Have you not noticed how 
sad and depressed he has been for some time ? ” 

“ Yes, I have indeed.” 

“ He would come, and he would go immediately to 
you, and stay there absorbed; and to such a point, 
silent, that for several days I asked myself—forgive 
me for speaking so plainly, if he were not in love with 
you, my Suzie. You are so charming, it would not 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


151 


have been strange! But no; it was not you, it was 
me ! ” 

“ You ? ” 

“ Yes, me! Let me tell you ! He hardly dared 
look at me. He avoided me, he fled from me. He was 
afraid of me—actually afraid—and, now, to do me 
justice, I am not frightful. Am I ? ” 
u Certainly ndt.” 

“ Ah! he was not afraid of me, it was my frightful 
money! My money which attracts all the rest, and is 
so tempting to them, my money frightens him and 
drives him to dispair, because he is not like the rest— 
because he—.” 

“ Take care, my darling, perhaps you are mistaken.” 
“ Oh! no, I am not mistaken. Just now, on the 
steps, as he was going away, he said a few words to 
me. The words were nothing, but if you had seen his 
distress, in spite of his efforts to conceal it! * Suzie, 
darling Suzie, by my love for you—and God knows 
how great a love it is—I am convinced, that if I had 
been a poor, little girl, without any money, instead of 
being Miss Percival, Jean would have taken my hand 
just now, and have told me that he loved me; and if 
he had told me so, do you know what I would have 
answered him ? ” 

“ That you loved him, too.” 


152 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


“ Yes, and that is why I am so happy. It is my 
firm resolve to marry for love. I do not say that I 
worship Jean, not yet; hut I am just commencing to, 
Suzie, and the beginning is so sweet.” 

“ Bettina, it frightens me to see you in such a state 
of exaltation. I do not doubt, that Monsieur Reynaud 
has a great regard for you.” 

“ Oh! more than that—more than that.” 

“ Love, then, if you will. Yes, you are right, you 
are not mistaken. He loves you; and are you not 
worthy, my darling, of all the love that any one can 
give for you ? As for Jean,—you see how easy it is 
for me also, to call him Jean,—you know what I think 
of him; very often, during the last month, we have 
had occasion to say to eacli other—‘I esteem him 
highly, very highly.’ But, in spite of that, is he a 
suitable husband for you ? ” 

“ Yes, if I love him.” 

“ I try to reason with you, and you interrupt me. 
Bettina, I have an experience which you cannot have; 
do not misunderstand me. Ever since our arrival in 
Paris, w r e have been thrown into very gay, brilliant, 
aristocratic society. Already, if you had been 
willing, you might have been a marchioness or a 
princess.” 

“ Yes, but I was not willing.” 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


153 


“ Then you are contented to be only Madame 
Reynaud ? ” 

“ Perfectly, if I love him.” 

“ Ah, you always come back to that.” 

“ Because, that is the only question. There is no 
other, and I want to be reasonable. I confess that 
this question is not quite decided, and that perhaps I 
am a little hasty. Row, see, how sensible I can be. 
Jean is going away to-morrow. I shall not see him 
again for three weeks. I will have all that time to 
question myself, to deliberate, to find out the real 
state of my feelings. Beneath all my flighty ways, I 
am serious and thoughtful; you will acknowledge 
that ? ” 

££ Yes, I acknowledge it.” 

“Well, then! I ask you this, as I would ask our 
mother, if she were here. If at the end of these three 
weeks, I say to you: £ Suzie, I am sure that I love 
him ! 5 will you let me go to him, all by myself, and 
ask him if he will have me for his wife ? That is what 
you did with Richard.” 

££ Yes, I will let you.” 

Bettina kissed her sister tenderly, and murmured in 
her ear these words : 

££ Thank you, mamma.” 

££ Mamma ! mamma ! that is what you called me 


154 


TJIE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


when you were a child, when we two were alone in 
the world, when I undressed you at night, in our poor 
little room, in New York, when I held you in my 
arms, when I put you in your little bed, and sang you 
to sleep. And since then, Bettina, I have had only 
one wish in the world ; your happiness. That is why 
I ask you to reflect well. Do not answer me.‘ Do 
not talk any more about it. I want to leave you quiet 
and calm. You have sent Annie away. Would you 
like me to be your little mamma again, to-night, 
and undress you and put you to bed as I used to 
do?” 

“ Oh, yes, I would like it so much.” 

“ And will you promise me to be wise, when you 
have gone to bed ? ” 

“ As wise as an image.” 

“ And you will do your best to go to sleep ? ” 

“ All that I can.” 

“ Without thinking of anything ? ” 

“ Without thinking of anything.” 

“ Yery well, then ! ” 

A few minutes later Bettina’s pretty head was 
gently resting amid embroideries and laces. Suzie said 
to her sister : 

“ I must go back to all these people who weary me 
so to-night. Before I go to my own room, I will 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


155 


come and see if you are asleep. Do not talk any more. 
Go to sleep now.” 

She went out. Bettina was alone. She tried to 
keep her promise and go to sleep, but she only half 
succeeded. She fell into a light slumber, into an un¬ 
conscious state, just between dreaming and waking. 
She had promised not to think of anything, and yet, 
she was thinking of him, only of him; but vaguely, 
indistinctly. She could not have told how long a time 
had passed, when suddenly it seemed to her there was 
some one in the room; she half opened her eyes, and 
recognized her sister. In sleepy tones she said to her : 

“ You know, I love him.” 

“ Hush—go to sleep ! ” 

“ I am going to sleep.” 

Then she fell into a deeper sleep; lighter fiowever, 
than usual—for about four o’clock in the morning she 
was awakened by a noise, which at any other time 
would not have disturbed her slumbers. The ram 
was falling in torrents, and beat against the windows 
in Bettina’s room. 

u 0h! It rains,” she said to herself; “he will get 
wet!” 

This was her first thought. She rose, and crossing 
the room, in her bare feet, threw open the shutter. 
The day dawned dark, stormy, and dismal; the sky 


156 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


was overcast with heavy clouds; the wind blew fiercely, 
driving the rain in sudden gusts. 

Bettina did not lie down again; she knew that it 
would be impossible for her to sleep. She put on a 
wrapper and stood by the window, watching the fall¬ 
ing rain. Since he must really go, she* wished he 
might have had pleasant weather and bright sunshine 
for his first day’s march. Eight or ten leagues in this 
driving rain! Poor Jean! Bettina thought of little 
Turner, and little Norton, and Paul de Lavardens, who 
wmuld sleep quietly until ten o’clock, while Jean would 
be exposed to all this storm. 

Paul de Lavardens! that name brought up a pain¬ 
ful memory, that waltz, the evening before. To have 
danced when Jean’s unhappiness was so evident! In 
Bettina’s eyes this waltz assumed the proportions of a 
crime; what she had done was horrible ! And after¬ 
wards, had she not failed in courage and frankness in 
that last interview with Jean. He could not, dared 
not, say anything; but she might have shown more 
tenderness, more abandon. Sad and suffering as he 
was, she never should have let him walk home. She 
ought to have kept him, to have kept him at any 
price. Jean must have gone away with the impres¬ 
sion, that she was a cruel, heartless girl. 

And in half an hour, he was going away for three 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


157 


weeks. Ah! if she only could in any way! But 
there is a way. The regiment will pass by the park 
wall, below the terrace. Bettina is seized with a mad 
desire to see Jean go by. He will understand when 
he sees her there, at such an hour, that she has come 
to ask his forgiveness for her unkindness the evening 
before. Yes, she will go. But, she has promised 
Suzie to be as wise as an image; and is it so, to do 
what she is about to do ? She will confess all to Suzie 
when she comes back, and Suzie will forgive her. 

She will go! she will go! Only, what can she wear ? 
She has only her ball dress, a muslin wrapper, and a 
pair of blue satin slippers. She would not dare to 
waken her maid; and yet, the time is so short, a 
quarter to five ! At five, the regiment starts. 

She must make her toilette with the muslin wrap¬ 
per, and the satin slippers; she will find a hat, her 
little sandals, and the big Scotch cloak which she 
wears on rainy days in the hall. She opens her door 
with the greatest precaution; everything is still in the 
chateau; she steals through the halls and down the 
stairway. 

If only the sandals are there, in their place ! That, 
is her great anxiety. They are there; and she puts 
them on over her satin slippers, and wraps the big 
cloak around her. She can hear the storm outside 


158 


THE AUBE CONSTANTIN. 


growing more violent. She discovers one of the im¬ 
mense umbrellas which the footmen use when they are 
on the box; she seizes one, she is ready, but, when 
she tries to go out, she finds that the doors are 
fastened with a heavy iron bolt. She tries to move it, 
but it remains firm, and the big hall clock slowly 
strikes five. It is the moment of his departure ! 

She must see him! She must see him! She makes 
a great effort. The bolt yields and slips hack in its 
groove, giving Bettina’s hand a little gash which 
makes it bleed; she wraps her handkerchief around 
it, takes her big umbrella, turns the key in the lock, 
and opens the door. At last! she is out of doors! 

The storm is frightful. The wind and rain are 
raging. It will take five or six minutes to reach the 
terrace where she can see the road. She rushes 
bravely on, under the shelter of her big umbrella. 
She has gone but a short distance when a sudden, 
furious, gust of storm bursts upon Bettina, tears off 
her cloak, turns her umbrella inside out, and almost 
carries her off her feet. There is nothing left. The 
disaster is complete. Bettina has lost one of her 
little sandals. They were not sandals for real service, 
but only dainty, little sandals for fine weather. 

Just at the moment when Bettina in despair is 
struggling against the tempest, her blue satin slippers 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


159 


sinking into tlie wet gravel, the wind brings her the 
distant echo of the sound of trumpets. The regiment 
is starting. Bettina summons all her courage; she 
drops the umbrella, fastens on her sandal as well as 
she can, and rushes on again in the pouring rain. 

At last she reaches the wood ; the trees protect her 
a little. Another sound of trumpets—this time nearer, 
Bettina thinks she hears the rumbling of the wheels. 
She makes her last effort, and reaches the terrace. She 
is in time! She sees the trumpeters’ white horses, 
and through the mist, the long, curved files of guns 
and wagons. She takes shelter under one of the old 
lindens, which border the terrace. She watches, she 
waits. He is there, in all that crowd of horsemen. 
Will she be able to recognize him ? Will he, by 
chance, turn his head this w T ay ? 

Bettina knows that he is lieutenant in the second 
battery of his regiment; she knows that a battery is 
composed of six guns and six wagons. The Abbe 
Constantin has told her so. The first battery must 
pass, then—that is, six guns and six wagons—and then 
lie will come. 

He comes, wrapped in his big coat; and it is he who 
first sees her, and recognizes her. He has just been 
thi nk ing- of a I0112; walk he had with her, on this ter- 
race, one evening, in the twilight. He raises his eyes, 


160 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


and, there, in that very place, he sees her again ! He 
bares his head, in all the rain, and bows to her, turn¬ 
ing around on his horse as he goes farther away, and 
looking back as long as he can see her. He says 
again to himself, as he had said the night before : 

“ It is the last time ! ” 

With both her hands, she waves him her adieux, and 
this motion many times repeated, brings her hands so 
near, so very near her lips, that one might almost 
think— 

“ Ah ! ” she says to herself, “ if after this, he does 
not know I love him, and forgive me my money—” 


IX. 

It is the 10th of August, the day which is to bring 
Jean back to Longueval. 

Bettina awaked very early in the morning, and ris¬ 
ing, runs immediately to the window. The bright 
sunshine has already dispelled the mists of the morn¬ 
ing. On the evening before, the sky was threatening 
and heavy with clouds. Bettina has slept but little, 
and all through the night she kept saying to herself: 

“ If only it will not rain to-morrow I ” 

It was going to be a beautiful day. Bettina is a 
little superstitious. She takes new hope, new courage. 

The day begins well, it will end well. 

Mr. Scott returned several days before. Bettina 
was waiting on the wharf at Havre, with Suzie and 
the children. 

After embracing them all, tenderly, Bichard turn¬ 
ing to his sister-in-law, said, laughing: 

“ Well, when is the marriage to be ? ” 

“ What marriage ? ” 


161 


162 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


“ With M. Jean Beynaud.” 

“ Oh, my sister has written you ? ” 

“ Suzie ? Not at all. Suzie has not told me a word. 
It is you, Bettina, who have written me. This young 
officer has been the only subject of all your letters for 
the last two months.” 

“ Of all my letters ? ” 

“Yes, and you have written me more frequently 
and more at length than usual. I do not complain 
of it, but only ask you when you will present my 
brother-in-law to me.” 

He jested, in saying this ; but Bettina replied: 

“ Very soon, I hope.” 

Mr. Scott found that it was a serious matter. As 
they went back on the train, Bettina asked Bichard 
for her letters to him. She read them over again. 
He was indeed the subject of these letters. There she 
found their first meeting related in minutest detail. 
Here was the description of Jean in the parsonage 
garden, with his straw hat and his bowl of salad, and 
here again monsieur Jean, and everywhere monsieur 
Jean. She discovered that she had loved him much 
longer than she thought. 

And now, it is the 10 th of August. Breakfast is 
just over at the chateau. Harry and Bella are impa¬ 
tient. They know that in an hour or two the regi- 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


163 


ment will come through the village. They have been 
promised to be taken to see the soldiers pass by, and 
for them as well as for Bettiua, the return of the 
Ninth Artillery is a great event. 

“ Aunt Betty,” said Bella “ aunt Betty, come with 
us,” 

“Yes, come,” said Harry “come; we will see our 
friend Jean on his big grey horse.” 

Bettina is firm, she refuses; and vet, what a tempta¬ 
tion ! 

But no, she will not go; she will not see Jean until 
the evening, when she can have the decisive explana¬ 
tion for which she has prepared herself during these 
three weeks. 

The children start off with their governesses. Bet¬ 
tina, Suzie and Bichard, go into the park near the 
chateau, and as soon as they are seated: 

“ Suzie,” says Bettina, “ I am going to remind you 
of your promise to-day. You remember what passed 
between us the night of our departure. It was agreed, 
that, if on the day of his return, I should say to you: 

4 Suzie I am sure that I love him! ’ that you would 
let me tell him so frankly, and ask him if he would 
have me for his wife.” 

44 Yes, I promised you that. But, are you very 
sure ? ” 


164 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


“ Perfectly sure. I warn you, then, that I intend 
to bring him here, to' this very seat,” added she smil¬ 
ing, “ and tell him in almost the same words what you 
once told Richard ; that brought you good fortune, 
Suzie, you are perfectly happy. And I, I want to be 
happy too! Richard, Suzie has spoken to you of 
monsieur Reynaud.” 

“ Yes, and she has told me that there is no man she 

esteems more highly; but-” 

“ But she has also told you that it was, perhaps, a 
little too obscure, a little too plebian a marriage for 
me. Oh ! naughty sister ! Would you believe, Richard, 
that I cannot rid her of this fear. She does not un¬ 
derstand that I desire above all things, to love and to 
be loved. Would you believe, Richard, that she set a 
horrible snare for me last week ! You know there is, 
in society, a prince Romanelli ? ” 

“Yes, you might have been a princess.” 

“ That would not have been very difficult, I fancy. 
Well! one day I was so imprudent as to say to Suzie 
that, as a last resort, the Prince Romanelli might be ac¬ 
ceptable to me. Can you imagine what she did ? The 
Turners were at Trouville. She arranged a little plot, 
they made me breakfast with the prince, but the result 
was most disastrous. Acceptable ! the two hours that 
I spent with him, I spent in asking myself how I could 



THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


165 


ever have said such a thing. No, Richard; no, Suzie; 
I will be neither princess, nor countess, nor mar¬ 
chioness. I will be madame Jean Reynaud, if monsieur 
Jean Reynaud does not object; and that, is by no 
means certain.” 

The regiment was entering the village, and suddenly 
a gladsome, stirring flourish of trumpets was heard in 
the distance. All three stopped, silent. It was the 
regiment. It was Jean who was passing by. The sounds 
grew fainter and died away, and Bettina resumed : 

“ No, it is not certain. He loves me, however, and 
very much, but without really knowing wdiat I am. I 
think that I deserve to be loved differently; I think 
that he would not be so afraid of me if he knew me 
better—and for that reason I ask permission to speak 
to him to-night, freely and openly.” 

“We consent,” replied Richard, “ we both consent. 
We know, Bettina, that you will never do anything 
that is not noble and generous.” 

“ I will try, at least.” 

The children came running back. They had seen 
Jean; he was all white with dust; he had said good 
morning to them. 

“ Only,” added Bella, “ he was not nice ; he did not 
stop to speak to us ; he always did, but this morning 
he seemed not to want to.” 


166 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


“Yes, he wanted to,” replied Harry, “for at first 
he did stop, and then he changed his mind and went 
on.” 

“Well, he did not anyway; and it is delightful to 
talk with an officer, especially when he is on horse¬ 
back ! ” 

“ It is not only that, but because we like Monsieur 
Jean so very much. If you knew, papa, how good he 
is and how he plays with us ! ” 

“ And w r hat nice pictures he makes ! Harry, do you 
remember the big punchinello, with his stick, that was 
so comical 

“ And the cat, there was a cat, too, just like our 
Guignol.” 

The two children ran off, talking about their friend 
Jean. 

“ Decidedly,” said Mr. Scott, “ every body in the 
house likes him.” 

“ And you will be like everybody else, when you 
know him,” replied Bettina. 

The regiment trotted through the village out into 
the open highway. Here is the terrace where he dis¬ 
covered Bettina the other morning. Jean says to 
himself: “ If she should be there ! ” He both fears 
and hopes. He lifts his head, he looks, she is not 
there! 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


167 


He has not seen her again ! He will not see her 
again, at least for a long time. He will go to Paris 
this very evening, at six o’clock. One of the attaches 
of the minister of war takes an interest in him. He 
will try to he exchanged into another regiment! 

Jean has reflected seriously while he was alone at 
Cercottes, and this was the result of his reflections: 
he cannot, he must not be Bettina’s husband! 

The men dismount in the court yard, at the bar¬ 
racks. Jean takes leave of his colonel and his com¬ 
rades. All is over. He is free, he can go away. He 
does not go, however. He looks around him. How 
happy he was three weeks ago as he rode out of this 
same court yard, amid the rattling of the cannon over 
the pavement of Souvigny! How sadly he will go 
out of it to-day ! Then, his life was here; where will 
it be now ? 

He enters, and goes to his apartment. He writes to 
Mrs. Scott; he tells her that he is obliged to start at 
once for Paris; that he cannot dine at the chateau; 
he begs Madame Scott to remember him to Madem¬ 
oiselle Bettina. Bettina ! Ah ! How hard it was for 
him to write that name! He seals his letter. He 
sends it off immediately. 

He makes his preparations for departure, then he 
will go to take leave of his godfather. That will be 


168 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


the hardest. He will only speak to him of a short 

absence. 

He opens one of his bureau drawers to take out 
some money. The first thing that meets his eyes, is a 
blue-tinted letter. It is the only note he ever received 
from her: 

“ Will you be so kind as to send, by the bearer, the 
book of which you spoke to me last evening ? Perhaps 
it will be a little deep for me. I would like, however, 
to try to read it, a tout a Vheure. Come, as soon as 
possible.” 

It is signed “ Bettina .” 

Jean reads these few lines over and over again. But 
very soon he can no longer read them, his eyes are 
dim. 

“ That is all that will remain to me of her! ” he 
says to himself. 

At this same hour, the Abbe Constantin is tete-a-tete 
with Pauline. They were making up their accounts. 
The financial situation is admirable. More than two 
thousand francs on hand ! And the desires of Suzie 
and Bettina are realized. There are no longer any 
poor in the district. Old Pauline has, sometimes, 
even slight scruples of conscience. 

“ Ho you see, Monsieur le Cure,” says she, “ that 
perhaps we are giving a little too much. It will soon 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


169 


be reported in the neighboring communes, that charity 
here has an open hand. And do you know what will 
happen one of these days ? They will come to Lon- 
gueval to be poor.” 

The cure gives Pauline fifty francs; she goes out 
to take them to a poor man, who has broken his arm 
in falling from a load of hay. 

The Abbe Constantin is alone in the parsonage. 
He is troubled. He watched for the arrival of the 
regiment; but Jean stopped only for a moment; he 
looked sad. For some time, the abbe has noticed 
that Jean no longer is in his accustomed good spirits. 
But the cure was not uneasy, believing it to be merely 
one of those little youthful vexations which do not 
concern a poor simple-hearted old priest. But to-day, 
Jean’s pre-occupation was very evident. 

“ I will come to you presently, godfather,” he had 
said to the cure, “ I want to talk with you.” 

He had left him abruptly. The Abbe Constantin 
had not had time to give Loulou his lump of sugar, or 
rather his lumps of sugar—for he had put five or six in 
his pocket—considering that Loulou had well deserved 
such a treat, after his ten day’s march. Besides, 
since Mrs. Scott came to the chateau, Loulou very 
often had several lumps of sugar. The Abbe Con¬ 
stantin had become a spendthrift, a prodigal; he felt 


170 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


like a millionaire; Loulou’s sugar was one of his follies. 
One day, he even came very near addressing to Loulou 
his same little stereotyped speech: 

“ This comes from the new owners of Longueval. 
Pray for them to-niglit.” 

It was three o’clock when Jean arrived at the par¬ 
sonage, and the cure immediately began : 

“You told me that you wanted to talk with me. 
What is it about ? ” 

“ About something, godfather, which will surprise 
you, and grieve you; and which grieves me, too. I 
come to bid you farewell.” 

“ Farewell! You are going away ? ” 

“Yes, 1 am going away.” 

“When?” 

“ This very day, in two hours.” 

“ In two hours! But we are to dine at the chateau 
this evening.” 

“ I have just written to Mrs. Scott to excuse me. I 
am absolutely obliged to go.” 

“ Immediately ? ” 

“ Immediately.” 

“ And you are going ? ” 

“To Paris.” 

“ To Paris ! Why this sudden determina¬ 
tion ? ” 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


171 


<c Not so sudden. I have thought about it for a 
long time.” 

“ And you have said nothing about it to me ! Jean, 
there is something the matter. You are a man now, 
and I have no longer a right to treat you as a child; 
but, you know how much I love you. If you have 
troubles, or sorrows, why not tell them to me ? Per¬ 
haps I could give you good counsel. Jean, why are 
you going to Paris ? ” 

“ I would rather not tell you, it will grieve you; but 
you have a right to know. I am going to Paris to 
ask to be exchanged into another regiment.” 

“ Into another regiment ? To leave Souvigny ? ” 

‘‘Yes, precisely, to leave Souvigny for some time, 
for a little while; but at all events to leave Souvigny; 
that is what I want, that is what is necessary.” 

“And I, Jean; you do not think of me? For a 
little while ! a little while! but that is all I have to 
live, a little while. And during these last days which 
I owe to God’s mercy, it was my happiness, Jean, yes, 
it was my happiness to have you here, near me. And 
you would go away! Jean, wait a little, be patient, it 
will not be very long; wait until the good God has 
called me to Himself; wait until I am gone to meet 
your father and your mother again on the other side. 
Do not go away, Jean, do not go away ! ” 


172 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


“ If you love me; I, too, love you, and you know it 
well.” 

“ Yes, I know it.” 

“ I have the same tenderness for you that I had 
when I was a little child, when you took me home, 
when you brought me up. My heart has not changed, 
it will never change. But if duty, if honor compel 
me to go ... ” 

“ Ah! if it is duty, if it is honor, I will say no 
more, Jean. All must yield to that, all, all! I have 
always found you a good judge of your duty, a good 
judge of your honor. Go, my child, go. I ask you 
nothing. I desire to know nothing.” 

“ Ah ! hut I want to tell you all,” cried Jean, over¬ 
come by his emotion. “And it is better that you 
should know all. You will remain here, you will re¬ 
turn to the chateau, you will see her again. She . . ” 

“ Who, she ? ” 

“ Bettina! ” 

“ Bettina! ” 

“ I love her, godfather, I love her! ” 

“ Oh, my poor boy! ” 

“ Forgive me for speaking to you of such things; 
but I tell them to you, as I would tell them to my 
father. And, then, I have never had any one to speak 
to about it, and that stifles me. Yes, it is a madness 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


173 


that has taken possession of me little by litt±e, in spite 
of myself; for you can well understand, mon dieu ! 
It was here that I first began to love her. When she 
came with her sister, you know, and the little rolls of 
money, and when her hair tumbled down, and that 
evening, the month of Mary ! X Since then I have been 
permitted to see her freely, familiarly; and you your¬ 
self have talked of her to me continually, you have 
extolled to me her sweetness, her goodness. How 
many times you have told me that there was no one 
in the world lovelier than she! ” 

“ And I thought so, and I think so still; and no one 
knows her better than myself, for I alone have seen 
her among the poor. If you knew how tender and 
brave she is on our rounds in the morning! Neither 
misery nor suffering dismay her. But I am wrong to 
tell you all this.” 

“ No, no, I will not see her again; but I like to hear 
you speak of her.” 

“You will never in your life, Jean, find a better 
woman, or one who has a more noble character. One 
day when she took me out with her in her carriage, 
full of playthings—she was carrying the playthings to 
a little sick girl; and in giving them to her, she talked 
so sweetly to the little thing, to make her smile and 
to amuse her, that I thought of you—and I remember 


174 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


now that I said to myself: ‘ Ah! if only she were 
poor! ’ ” 

“ Yes, if only she were poor ! but she is not! ” 

“ Oh! no. But what can be done, my poor child. 
If it pains you to see her, to live near her, then, so 
that you may not suffer, go away. Jean, it must be; 
go away; and yet, and yet-■” 

The old priest grew thoughtful, and leaning his 
head in his hands, was silent for several minutes ; then 
he continued: 

<£ And yet, Jean, do you know what I am thinking 
about ? I have seen a great deal of mademoiselle 
Bettina since she came to Longueval. And, I have 
been thinking—it did not surprise me then—it seemed 
so natural that every one should be interested in you; 
but, indeed, she was always talking of you, yes, al¬ 
ways.’’ 

“ Of me ? ” 

“ Yes, and of your father, and of your mother. She 
was curious to know all about your life, she asked me 
to explain to her what a soldier’s life was like—a true 
soldier, who loved his profession, and performed its 
duties conscientiously. It is strange, since you have 
told me this, what a tide of memories comes back to 
me. A thousand little things recur to me. For instance, 
she came back from Havre, day before yesterday, at 



THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


175 


three o’clock. Well, in an hour after her arrival she 
was here. And, immediately, she began to talk about 
you. She asked me if you had written, if you had 
been ill, when you would arrive, at what hour, if the 
regiment would come through the village.” 

“ It is useless, godfather, to recall all this.” 

“ No, it is not useless. She seemed so glad, so 
happy, even, that she was to see you again. She in¬ 
tended to make a fete of the dinner to-night. She 
was to present you to her brother-in-law. There is no 
one at the chateau, not a single guest. She made a 
point of that; and I remember her last words, as she 
stood in the door: 6 There will be only five of us,’ 
she said to me, ‘ you and Monsieur Jean, my sister, my 
brother-in-law, and I.’ And she added, laughingly: 
‘A real family dinner.’ Her last words, just as she 
was going, were: ‘ a real family dinner ! ’ Do you 
know, Jean, what I think ? ” 

“You must not think it, godfather, it must not be ! ” 
“ Jean, I think that she loves you ! ” 

“ And I, I think so too ! ” 

“ You, too ! ” 

“ When I left her, three weeks ago, she was so 
agitated, so moved ! She saw that I was sad and un- 
happy. She did not want to let me go. We were on the 
steps of the chateau. I had to fly—yes—fly. I should 


176 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


have spoken, have told her all. After going a little 
way I stopped, and looked back. She could no longer 
see me. I was in the darkness. But I could see her. 
She stood there in the rain, motionless, her arms and 
shoulders bare, looking after me. Perhaps I am fool¬ 
ish to think so. Perhaps it was only a feeling of pity. 
But no, it was something more than pity; for, do you 
know what she did the next morning ? She came out 
at five o’clock, in all the storm, to see me go by with 
the regiment, and, that is the way in which she bade 
me adieu. Oh ! godfather ! godfather! ” 

“But then,” said the poor cure completely over¬ 
whelmed, completely bewildered, “ but then I do not 
understand it at all. If you love her, Jean, and if she 
loves you ! ” 

“ But it is for that very reason that I must go away. 
If it only concerned me! If I were sure that she 
had not discovered my love, sure that she was not 
afflicted by it, I would stay; I would stay, if only for 
the pleasure of seeing her, and I would love her from 
afar without any hope, for nothing but the happiness 
of loving her. But she is perfectly conscious of it, 
and far from discouraging me. It is just this which 
compels me to go away.” 

“No, I cannot understand it. I know very well, 
my poor child, that we are talking about matters on 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


ITT 


which I am not an authority ; but, at least you are, 
both of you good, young and attractive. You love 
her, she would love you, and you cannot! ” 

“But her money, godfather; but her money! ” 

“ What matters her money 1 Her money has noth¬ 
ing to do with it! Is it on account of her money that 
you love her? It is rather in spite of her money. 
Your conscience can rest easy in that respect, and that 
is enough.” 

“ No, that is not enough. It is not enough to have 
a good opinion of one’s self; it is necessary that others 
should be of the same opinion.” 

Oh! Jean, among all who know you, who could 
misjudge you ? ” 

“ Who knows ? and then there is something else 
besides this question of money, something more serious 
and important. I am not a suitable husband for her.” 
“ And who is more worthy than you ? ” 

“ It is not a question of my worth, it is a question 
of what she is, and of what I am; it is a question of 
asking myself what her life ought to be, and what my 
life ought to be. One day, Paul—-you know he has 
rather a coarse way of saying things, but that often 
gives force to an idea—we were talking of her, and, 
Paul, suspecting nothing, or he would not have said 
it, he is veiy good hearted—well, Paul said to me: 


178 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


6 What she needs is a husband who devotes himself to 
her, entirely to her, a husband who has no other care 
than to make her life a perpetual fete ; in short, a hus¬ 
band who gives her the worth of her money.’ You 
know me. Such a husband, I cannot, I ought not to 
be. I am a soldier, and I w r ish to remain a soldier. 
If the varying fortunes of my profession should some 
day send me to a little post in the Alps, or to some 
out of the way village in Algeria, can 1 ask her to 
follow me ? Can I condemn her to the life of a 
soldier’s wife, which is, in fact, the life of a soldier! 
Think of the life she now leads, with all its luxury, all 
its pleasures! ” 

“ Yes,” said the ^bbe, “this is a more serious ques¬ 
tion than the money.” 

“ So serious, that no hesitation is possible. While 
I was alone, in camp, these last three weeks, I have 
thought it all over; I have thought of nothing else, and 
loving her as I love her, reasons must be very power¬ 
ful which can let me see my duty clearly. I must go 
away, far, very far away. I shall suffer much, but 
I ought not to see her again! I ought not to see 
her again! ” 

Jean dropped into a chair by the hearth, and sat 
there overwhelmed with his sorrow. The old priest 
gazed at him sadly. 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


179 


“ Oil I to see you so unhappy ! my poor child ! that 
such grief should come to you ! It is very sad, very 
cruel—” 

At this moment there was a light knock at the 
door. 

“ Do not be uneasy, Jean,” said the cure; “I will 
not let anyone come in.” 

The abba went to the door, opened it, and started 
back as if he had seen an unexpected apparition. 

It was Bettina. She saw Jean instantly, and going 
straight to him: 

O 

“ You ? ” she cried. “ Oh ! how glad I am ! ” 

He had risen, she took both his hands, and address¬ 
ing the abbe :/ //^ 

“ Pardon me, "Monsieur le Cure, if I greet him first. 
I saw you yesterday, and I have not seen him for 
three whole weeks; not since that evening when he 
went away so sad and suffering.” 

She still held Jean’s hands. He had not strength 
to move, or say one word. 

“And are you better now?” continued Bettina; 
“ Ho, not yet, I can see it, still sad. Ah ! how well 
it was that I came ! I must have had an inspiration. 
And yet, I am a little, very much, embarrassed to find 
you here. You will understand when you know what 
I come to ask your godfather.” 


180 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


She dropped Jean’s hands and turning to the abbe : 

“ I come, Monsieur le Cure, to beg you to listen to 
my confession. Yes, my confession. But you need 
not go away, monsieur Jean. I will make my confes¬ 
sion publicly. I am very willing to speak before you, 
and I think, perhaps, it will be better. Let us sit 
down.” 

She was full of courage and confidence. She was in 
a fever, but it was the fever which gives to the soldier 
on the field of battle, order, heroism, and disregard of 
danger. 

The emotion which caused Bettina’s heart to beat 
so quickly, was lofty and noble. She said to herself: 

“ I want to be loved ! 1 want to love ! I want to 

be happy ! I want him to be happy! And, since he 
has not courage enough, I must have it for both of us; 
I must take the field alone, and with a fearless heart, 
march on to the conquest of our love, of our happi¬ 
ness.” 

Bettina’s first words completely conquered both the 
abbe and Jean. They let her speak while they re¬ 
mained silent. They felt that the hour was, indeed, 
supreme, they knew that what was about to happen 
would be decisive and irrevocable; but they could not 
foresee. They sat down passively, almost automatically. 
They waited—they listened. Between these two be- 


THE ABKH CONSTANTIN 


181 


wildered men, Bettina, alone, was self-possessed. Her 
voice was clear and distinct as she began: 

“ First, I will tell you Monsieur le Cure, to make 
your conscience entirely easy, that I am here with the 
full consent of my sister and my brother-in-law. They 
know why I came, they know what I am going to do. 
They not only know it, they approve of it. That is 
understood, is it not ? Well! It is your letter, 
Monsieur Jean, which brings me here; the letter in 
which you told my sister that you could not come to 
dine with us this evening, and that you were absolutely 
obliged to go away. This letter disarranged all my 
plans. This evening, with the same permission of my 
sister and my brother-in-law, I wanted to take you to 
the park, Monsieur Jean, to there sit down with you. I 
was even ^so childish as to choose the very place, be¬ 
forehand, and deliver a little address to you—carefully 
prepared and studied, and almost learned by heart; for 
ever since your departure, I have thought of nothing 
else. I recite it to myself from morning till night. 
This was what I proposed to do, and you can under¬ 
stand how disconcerted 1 was when your letter came. I 
reflected a little while, and then I said to myself, that, if 
I addressed my little speech to your godfather, it would 
be almost the same as if to yourself. I have therefore 
come, Monsieur le Cure, to beg you to listen to me.” 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


132 


I am listening to you," faltered the abbe. 

“ I am rich, Monsieur le Cure, very rich ; and to be 
frank, I love my money—yes, I love it very much. 
I owe to it the luxurv which surrounds me, this 
luxury, which, I admit—this is a confession—is not 
disagreeable to me. My excuse is, that I am very 
young; perhaps, this will pass away with age. But I am 
not quite sure of it. And I have another excuse ; it 
is, that if I love my money for all the pleasures it pro¬ 
cures for me, I love it still more for the good it enables 
me to do to those around me. I love it selfishly, if 
you will, for the delight which the pleasure of giving 
affords me. Indeed, I do not think my fortune fell 
into bad hands. For, Monsieur le Cure, it seems to 
me, that just as you have the charge of souls, so I 
have charge of my riches. I always say to mvself: 
‘ Above all things, 1 desire that my husband shall be 
worthy to share this immense fortune; I want to be 
sure that he will help me to make good use of it 
while I live, and after my death, should I die first. 
Besides I must love the man, who will be my 
husband!' And, here, Monsieur le Cure, is where 
my confession really begins. There is a man, who, 
for the last two months, has done all that he could 
to conceal his love from me. But, I do not doubt that 
he loves me—for you do love me, Jean, do you not ?” 


Til 15 ABBn CONSTANTIN. 


183 


“Yes,” said Jean, in a low voice, looking down, 
guiltily, “ yes, I love you ! ” 

u I was sure of it, but I wanted to bear you say so. 
And now, Jean, I implore you, do not say a single 
word. It would be useless, and only trouble me, and 
binder me from going straight through to the end, and 
telling you what I have resolved to say to you. 
Promise me to sit there, silently, and hear me” 
a Yes, I promise.” 

Bettina lost her self-command for a moment, and 
her voice trembled; she went on, however, with a 
playfulness that was a little forced: 

“ Monsieur le Cure, I do not positively accuse you 
of all that has happened; but, nevertheless it is a little 
your fault.” 

My fault! « 

“ Ah! you must not speak, either. Yes, I repeat it, 
your fault. I am sure that you have told Jean a great 
deal about me, a great deal too much. Perhaps, ex¬ 
cept for that, he would not have thought of me. And 
at the same time, you have told me a great deal about 
him—not too much; no, no, but at least a good deal! 
Then I, having so much confidence in you, began to watch 
and study him more attentively. I began to compare 
him with all those who, during the past year, had asked 
my hand in marriage. It seemed to me that he was 


1S4 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


superior to them in every respect. At last* one day, 
or rather one evening—it was three weeks ago, the 
night before your departure, Jean, I discovered that 
I loved you. Yes, Jean, I love you I I implore you, 
Jean, not to speak, sit still, and do not come near me. 
I had plenty of courage when I came, but you see I 
am losing it. I have still something to say to you, 
most important of all. Jean, listen to me. I do not 
desire an answer prompted by your emotion. I know 
that you love me. If you should marry me, it must 
be not only from love but from reason. During the 
fortnight which preceded your departure, you took 
such pains to shun me; you were so reserved when we 
met, that I could not be myself with you. Perhaps, 
there are some traits in my character of which yon 
know nothing as yet. Jean I understand you, I know 
what I should undertake in becoming your wife ; and 
I would be, not only loving and tender, but brave and 
strong. Your whole life is known to me, your god¬ 
father has told it to me. I know why you are a soldier, 
I know what duties and sacrifices you may have to 
encounter in the future. Jean, do not distrust me; I 
will not dissuade you from any of these duties and 
sacrifices. You may have thought that I would wish 
you to abandon your profession. Never! never! I 
would never ask you to do such a thing. I love 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


185 


you, and I wish you to be just what you are. It 
is because j^our life is different, and better than the 
lives of all those who have sought me for a wife, that 
I have wished you to be my husband. I would not 
love you so well, perhaps, I would not love you at all— 
though that would be hardly possible—if you lived 
as they do. When I could, I would follow you; and 
everywhere that you were, my duty and my happiness 
would be. And if a day should come, when you could 
not take me with you, a day when you must depart 
alone, oh! Jean! that day I promise you I will be 
brave, so that you shall not lose your courage. And 
now, Monsieur le Cure, it is not to him, it is to you 
that I address myself, and I want you to answer me: 
Tell me, if he loves me, and if he thinks me worthy of 
him, w^ould it be just to punish me so severely for my 
fortune ? Ought he not to consent to be my husband \ ” 
“Jean,” said the old priest, solemnly, “ marry her; 
it is your duty, and it will be your happiness ! ” 

Jean approached Bettina, took her in his arms, and 
imprinted his first kiss on her forehead. 

Bettina gently released herself, and addressing the 
abbe: 

“ And now, Monsieur le Cure, I want to ask you 
something more; I wish, I wish—” 

“ What is it you wish \ ” 


186 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


“ I wish, Monsieur le Cure, that you would kiss me 
too.” 

The old priest kissed her on both cheeks, and Bet- 
tin a went on: 

“You have often told me, Monsieur le Cure, that 
Jean was like a son to you, and may not I be like a 
daughter ? Then you will have two children.” 

A month afterwards, on the 12th of September, 
Bettina, in the simplest of bridal robes, stood before 
the altar in the church of Longueval. 

Nannie Turner, had solicited the honor of playing 
the organ on this joyful occasion; for the poor little 
harmonium had disappeared. An organ, with its 
shining pipes, had been put up in the gallery of the 
church. It was Miss Percival’s wedding present to 
the Abbe Constantin. 

The old cure said the mass. Jean and Bettina 
knelt before him; he pronounced the benediction, and 
stood with outstretched hands a few moments in prayer, 
invoking all the graces of heaven upon the heads of 
his two children. 

Then the organ began to play that same reverie of 
Chopin’s which Bettina played the first time that she 


THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


187 


came into the little village church, where the happiness 
of her life was to be consecrated. 

And this time is was Bettina who wept. 































































•• 
























































































BEST EDITIONS 

OF 

STANDARD FICTION. 


ELIOT’S ( GEORGE) COMPLETE WORKS. 

Lovell's Popular Edition. Printed from large clear type, new elec¬ 
trotype plates, uniform in style with Lovell's editions of Dickens, 
Thackeray and Scott. The only complete edition published in this 
country. 


I. Middlemarch. 

II. Daniel Deronda. 

III. Romola. 

IV. Adam Bede. 

V. Felix Holt. 

VI. The Mill on the Floss. 


VII. Scenes from Clerical Life, and 
Silas Marner. 

VIII. Theophrastus Such—The Span¬ 
ish Gypsy, Jubal, and other 
Poems. 


8 vol. 12mo. Cloth, black and gold.$12 00 

Half calf. 24 00 


DICKENS’ WORKS. Charles Dickens’ Complete 

Works. Lovell's Popular Illustrated Edition. Printed from entirely 
new electrotype plates, large, clear type, with over 150 illustrations by 
Phiz, Barnard, Green, etc., etc. 


15 vols. 12mo. Cloth, gilt. 22 50 

“ Cloth, gilt top. 25 00 

Half Russia. 32 50 

Half calf. 45 00 

Any volume sold separately, in cloth. 1 50 


SCOTT {SIR WALTER). THE WA VERLEY 

NOVELS. Lovell's Popular Illustrated Editions. New electrotype 
plates, large clear type, uniform with Lovell’s editions of Dickens and 
Thackeray, making these the best and cheapest editions published. 

Library Edition. Printed on fine paper, fully illustrated, and beau¬ 
tifully bound, making this the best edition published. 24 vols. Cloth, 


gilt. 30 00 

— The Same. Popular Edition. Two vols. in one. 

12 vols. Cloth, gilt . 18 00 

Half calf. 36 00 


THACKERAY. William Makepeace Thackeray’s 

Complete Works. Lovell's Popular Illustrated Edition. This is an 
entirely new edition of Mr. Thackeray's writings. It is beautifully 

E rinted from new electrotype plates, large clear type, on fine paper, 
andsomely illustrated with over 200 full-page illustrations by the 
author, Richard Doyle, and F. Walker, and bound in cloth, gilt. It is 
the only large-type edition printed in this country, and is the best , 
cheapest , and handsomest edition published. 


11 vols. 12mo. About. 800 pages each. Cloth.16 50 

“ “ Half calf..33 00 

Any volume will be sold separately, bound in cloth, price. 1 50 


JOHN W. LOVELL* COMPANY, 

Publishers, 14& 16 Vesey St., New York. 


















NEW EDITIONS 

OF 

STANDARD PUBLICATIONS. 


LOVELL’S STANDARD LIBRARY. The best 

selection of Classic Fiction, etc. Printed uniformly in large clear type, 
from new electrotype plates, and very beautifully bound. In 12mo 
volumes. Cloth, black and gold, per volume.Si 00 


Robinson Crusoe. 

Arabian Nights. 

Swiss Family Robinson. 
Children of the Abbey. 

Don Quixote. 

Bunyan's Pilgrim’s Progress. 
Ivanhoe. 

Scottish Chiefs. 

Thaddeus of Warsaw. 

Last Days of Pompeii. 
Andersen’s Fairy Tales. 


First Series. 

Tom Brown’s School Days at Rugby. 
Grimm’s Popular Tales. 

Paul and Virginia, Rasselas, and 
Vicar of Wakefield. 

Gulliver’s Travels and Baron Mun¬ 
chausen. 

Cliavasse's Advice to a Wife and 
Mother. 

Dickens’ Child’s History of England. 
Willy Reilly. 
iEsop's Fables. 


Second Series. 


Vanity Fair 

The Mysterious Island—Jules Verne. 
20,000 Leagues under the Sea—Jules 
Verne. 

Tour of the World in 80 Days—Jules 
Verne. 

The Fur Country—Jules Verne. 

Five Weeks in a Balloon—Jules Verne. 


Last of the Mohicans—James Feni- 
more Cooper. 

Irving’s Sketch Book. 

Oliver Twist. 

Dickens-Collins Xmas Stories. 
Waverley. 

Redgauntlet. 

Mark Seaworth—Kingston. 

The Midshipman—Kingston. 


LOVELL’S RED-LIKE EDITION OF THE 


POETS. Without doubt, the finest and most complete edition of the 
poets ever issued in this country, at a low price. In 12mo volumes, 
illustrated, handsomely bound in cloth, black and gold, gilt edges. 1 25 


Shakespeare. 

Tennyson. 

Milton. 

B 1 , ron. 

Scott. 

Moore. 

Pope. 


Burns. 

Homer’s Iliad. 
Homer’s Odyssey. 
Adelaide Procter. 
Owen Meredith. 
Lucile. 

Browning. 


B UL WER ’S NO VELS. 


Jean Ingelow. 
Goethe. 
Schiller. 
Chaucer. 

Poe. 

T upper. 
Keats. 


Dante. 

Kirke White. 

Herbert. 

Aytoun. 

Hood. 

Shelley 

Rogers. 


One- Volume Edition , con- 


\ 


taining a selection of the best novels of Sir Edward Bulwer (Lord 
Lytton), as follows: Last Days of Pompeii, Ernest Maltravers, Alice, 
Eugene Aram, Pelham, Zanoni, Godolphin. Cloth, black and goia. 2 00 


JAMES’ ( Cx. P. R.) KOVELS . One-Volume Edi¬ 

tion. containing a collection of the best novels of this popular writer: — 

One in a Thousand, Richelieu. The Robber, Philip Augustus, The Gypsy, 

The Ancient Regime, The Gentleman of the Old School. 

1 vol. 8vo. Cloth, black and gold. 2 00 


SUE. EUGENE SUE’S KOVELS. One-Volume 

Edition , containing the following novels by this celebrated writer:— 

The Commander of Malta. The Princess of Hansfeld. 

Latreaumont; or, The Conspiracy. The Temptation. 

1 vol. 8vo. Cloth, black and gold ... C00 

JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY, 

Publishers, 14 & 16 Vesey St., New York. 







AD VERTISEMENTS. 


BEST EDITIONS 

OF 


STANDARD HISTORIES. 


KNIGHT. POPULAR HISTORY OF ENG- 

LAND, from the landing of Julius Caesar to the death of Prince 
Albert. By Charles Knight. Library Edition. 8 vols. 12mo. 160 illus¬ 
trations. Cloth, gilt top. $12 0C 

- The Same. Lovell's Standard Library. 4 vols. 12mo. 32 illustra¬ 
tions. Cloth, gilt . 6 00 

McCA RTHY. HI ST OR Y OF OUR 0 WN TIMES. 

By Justin McCarthy. Printed from new plates, large clear type. 2 vols. 
12mo. Cloth, gilt. . ...3 00 

GREEN’S HISTORY OF THE ENGLISH PEO- 

PLE. History of the English People. By J. R. Green. Printed from 
new plates, large clear type, with colored maps. 4 vols. 12mo. Cloth, 
gilt, in box. 6 00 

PLUTARCH’S LIVES OF ILLUSTRIOUS 

MEN, with a Life of Plutarch. Translated from the Greek by John 
Dryden and others. The whole carefully revised and corrected. Popular 

Edition. 3 vols. 12mo, 600 pp. Cloth, gilt, in box.4 50 

Half calf. . 9 00 

TAINE. HISTORY OF ENGLISH LITERA- 

TURE. By H. A. Taine, D.C.L. Translated from the French by H. 

Yan Laun, one of the Masters of the Edinburgh Academy. 1 vol. 
12mo, 730 pages, beautifully printed, bound in cloth, gilt . 1 25 

ROLLIN. ANCIENT HISTORY. The Ancient 

History of the Egyptians, Carthaginians, Assyrians, Babylonians, 
Medes and Persians, Grecians, Macedonians. By Charles Rollin. Popu¬ 
lar Edition. 4 vols. 12mo, 789 pages each, neatly bound in cloth, gilt.. 6 00 
Half calf....12 00 


SCIIMITZ ’ ANCIENT HISTORY. A Manual of 

Ancient History. By Dr. Leonhard Schmitz, Ph.D., LL.D. Cloth, gilt. 1 28 


MA CA ULA Y HIS TOR Y OF ENG LA ND , from 

the Accession of James the Second. By Thomas Babington Macaulay. 

This is a new edition of this well-known standard work, printed from 
new electrotype plates, in the popular 12mo form, and is without 
doubt the best of the cheaper editions of the work published. 5 vols. 
12mo, 600 pp. each. Cloth, in box. 3 75 


- CRITICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS ES- 

SAYS AND POEMS. Fine large type, new stereotype plates, printed 


on good paper, neatly bound. 3 vols. 12mo, 820 pp. each. 3 75 

LIFE AND LETTERS OF LORD MAC A ULA Y. 

By bis nephew, O^orge Otto Trevelyan. M.P. Two volumes in on*\ 

1 vol. 12mo Cloth, gilt . 1 25 


JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY, 

Publishers. 14 & 16 Vf.suy Pt . Nutt Toft. 

















NEW EDITIONS 


STANDARD 


PUBLICATIONS. 


CORE GALLERY. The Dore Gallery of Bible 

Stories, illustrating the principal events in the CM and New Testa¬ 
ments, with descriptive Text by Josephine Pollard. 1 large 4to. vol¬ 
ume, magnificently illustrated by Gustave Dor6. Cloth, gilt. Reduced 
from $5.0(1 to..... §1 GO 


LAMB. THE COMPLETE WORKS , IN PROSE 


AND VERSE OF CHARLES LAMB , from the original edition, with 
the cancelled passages restored, and many pieces now first collected. 
Edited and prefaced by A. II Shepherd, with portraits and facsimile of 
a page of the Dissertation upon Roast Fig. 1 vol. 12mo, 790 pp. Cloth. 2 00 


SWIFT. THE CHOICE WORKS OF DEAN 

SWIFT, in Prose and Verse, carefully reprinted from the original edi¬ 
tions. With Memoir, Portrait, and illustrations. 1 vol. 12mo, 760 pp. 
Cloth. .. 2 00 


HOOD . THE CHOICE WORKS OF THOMAS 

HOOD, in Prose and Verse, including the cream of the Comic An¬ 
nuals, with Life of the Author. Portrait and over 200 illustrations. 

1 vol. 12mo, 780 pp. Cloth. 2 00 

POLE. THE THEORY OF THE MODERN 

SCIENTIFIC GAME OF WHIST. By William Pole, F.R.S., Mus. 

Doc., Oxon. To which is added Rules of the Portland Club. 1 vol. 
lGmo. Cloth, gilt . 75 


NOCTES AMBROSIA NAE. By Christopher North 

(Prof. John Wilson). Selected and arranged by John Skelton. 1 vol. 
12mo. Cloth, gilt. 1 25 


ENGLISH MEN OF LETTERS . Edited by John 

Morley. A series of Brief Biographies by the most eminent literary 
men of the day. 5 vols. 12mo. Lovell's Caxton Classics. Cloth, gilt.. 3 75 

Any volume sold separately. 75 

Each Biography is also issued separately, in neat paper cover, price 10c. 

Vol. I. contains 

Burns, by Principal Shairp. Milton, by Mark Pattison. 

Byron, by Professor Niehol. Shelley, by J. A. Symonds, 


Vol. II. contains 

C haueer. by Professor A. W. W. Pope, by Leslie Stephen. 

Cowper, by Goldwin Smith. Southey, by Professor Dowden. 

Vol. III. contains 


Bunyan. by J. A. Fronde. Locke, by Thomas Fowler. 

Spenser, by the Dean of St. Paul's. Wordsworth, by F. Myers. 

Vol. IV. contains 


Burke, by John Morley. 

Gibbon, by J. C. |jteri^i. _ 

Defoe, by William Minim. 
Goldsmith by William Black. 

JOHN W. LOVELL 


Hume, by Professor Huxley. 
Johnson,' by Leslie Stephen, 
contains 

Scott, by R. H. Hutton 
Thackeray, by Anthony Trollope. 

COMPANY, 


Publishers, 14 & 16 Vesey St., New York. 
























































































« 



























- \ x c v-. + , v MM > ■> 









•w ; ' ,. ;-■■•—-3. . A > •; ■ :. ,v ‘ ., -=0 



, 1 } ' ^ ^ l :fA * * 0° 

</» *v 







r> J * ‘5, 3> -A % X - y ^ K . <*• « 


-^, , % rrW * -v *%. ., ' »^\j- - ^ ^ 


°o' 

\ • «L 


















O * K 


o o' 









X^ *5 




V s . <V N s ' C‘ \ ' a. "< c o * 

/X * */* —V^\ * **- V, 








0> „ 






.^' « 1 1 8 * 

/yT^- 1 

gO v> 



X* *. 




















Jpo, 

' J* at? '% ' ^ 

** A 







i G 

■% : < .,. 

<L' 



v » ' *•/ 



c‘" .A ** s • 

fj- V* 

. * x o ©,. * 

i* v < 6 J A> **, H 

^ S * V y A 

O' s * A // C fc 

A ^ v--v *•••. s 







library of congress 


00012Li72£51 


J* T 

>"it* r \ } 



* > ;t t' 




• I 

) c 

• • • • « • ** » 



VMIflHMfMfi. 

































































